


It Was To None But Me

by Wizards_Pupil



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, Altered Universe, Angst, Curses, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Politics, Erebor, Everyone lived, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Pining, Post BoFA, Secrets, Thorin has too many emotions, Thorin pissed off the wrong person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:46:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 60,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2565449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizards_Pupil/pseuds/Wizards_Pupil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed very possible Thorin had irritated someone with magic. He had no clue what he had done, but there was only so long he could ignore the signs. </p><p>  <em>The air grew warm around them, far from pleasantly. The lady stood taller and raised her hand. She ran it over his body, hovering just above him, and sang something in a language that he couldn’t understand. His skin tingled at the words and it felt like there was a vise squeezing at his heart. He gasped vainly for air while his side flared with pain and the lady’s eyes met his. </em></p><p>  <em>“Hear me now, stone-tender. You will walk this earth, doomed to see and absorb what you fear until you embrace it. Until you can speak your heart and understand the heart of others, you will lack the control you so cling to.”</em></p><p>All he had wanted to do was rebuild Erebor. Now it looked like he would have to battle the emotions of everyone in the Lonely Mountain to do so.</p><p>He <em>really</em> hated elves. And magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Of all the money that e'er I had_   
_I've spent it in good company_   
_And all the harm that e'er I've done_   
_Alas it was to none but me_   
_And all I've done for want of wit_   
_To memory now I can't recall_   
_So fill to me the parting glass_   
_Good night and joy be with you all_

_-The Parting Glass_

* * *

 

To Thorin, battles were strange things outside of time. A single breath that extended indefinitely, with no true beginning, and no foreseeable end.

It was a strange presence that existed as a constant flow of thought. One long stream of training and instinct tied together in movements that would hopefully see him through to the end of the battle.

Such was the way it had always been for Thorin. Since the first time he had lifted his sword in battle at the age of twenty. He was aware only of whatever weapon and protection he had, and who or what was in front of him. If it was a friend, he moved past them without a spare thought. If it was an enemy he killed it. He had only ever failed to make it to the end of one battle, and he had seen his enemy fall at that time.

Survival was the obvious goal, victory the second. The Battle for Erebor was no different. It was a constant blur of death, of blood, of dirt, of pain. He could hear the shouts of the fallen around him, and shouts of rage from his fellow fighters. He was always silent when he fought, unless he was attempting to rally fighters. His father had taught him not to waste his breath with shouting.

The breath had ended with a blow to his side. He’d managed to step outside of the strange headspace that battles encouraged long enough to see his nephew, golden hair shining in the waning sun, attempt to step in front of a ending blow. He’d shoved him forcibly aside, knocking Kili over as well. The blow had landed and brought him to his knees.

His life blood had spilled across the desolate ground as he watched his nephews take down the enemy of their family. He body grew cold as the orc gave one last shout of defiance before his head was separated from his body. The orc fell, dead, and Thorin exhaled.

He woke up briefly to searing pain before the darkness claimed him again. He could see a bright lady watching him, but counted it as nothing more than fevered dreams.

The next time he woke it was in a tent with a terrible amount of pain, and four dwarrows watching him. Óin was cleaning bloodied hands in a pot, Fíli was helping Kíli stand, and Balin was glaring. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, and it took him several goes to make any words at all. When he finally did make a sound, it was only one word.

“Bilbo?”

“He’s alive and aiding Bombur with feeding everyone else. Do you want us to send for him?” The words were spoken too quickly, tripping into each other in their rush, extremely unlike Fíli. Fíli who always took his time with whatever he said. Who always bore in mind the power that words could hold, unless he was teasing his brother or mother. It was a sign of worry, one that Thorin had no time to address. He was dying.

He was _dying_. It was strange to be aware of such a thing. He had always imagined he would die on the battlefield without time. Alive one second, and gone the next. There would be no time for breath, for thought, or remorse.

He had little time, but it was enough, it would be enough to make right that which he had made so very wrong.

Fíli stood before him now with wide eyes that spoke openly of terror. He had never seen Erebor before this quest, and now he was to rule her.

They would have to be strong. He could not allow them any weakness. Erebor would be difficult to rule, harder with his passing. There would be those who would say that Fíli was not fit for rule.

“Yes. I must speak with him.” Balin gave his head a sharp nod and rushed from the tent. Óin eyed him with a frown and gave his head a shake.

“There’s nothing more I can do, my King.” The healer’s hand ran along the bandages that covered his torn chest. It was getting harder to breath.

“I know. Thank you.” He laid his hand on top of Óin’s and met the dwarf’s dark eyes. He was one of the few members of the company that had been with Thorin since the beginning. He had mended him after every battle, offered council when it was needed, and a smile when it seemed incapable of being found else where.

There was no time to say any of what he wanted to. His breathing was already labored.

Óin nodded in apparent understanding and stepped back. His gaze hardened and he gave his head one more nod before turning and leaving the tent as well.

“Uncle? Kíli croaked, his voice thick. His hair was falling in a stringy mess around his face and tears streaked his cheeks. He looked so very young. They both did. Far too young to bear the weight they now held. At least they had each other.

“You fought bravely. You both did. I am proud to call you kin.” Kíli stumbled closer and Fíli moved to help him kneel by Thorin’s bedside. The blond dwarf grabbed his hand while Kíli fisted the blanket. “It will be difficult now. Do not let them question you. Listen to Balin’s advice. Tell Dís I asked you to come with me. Accept any help that the men of Dale will offer you, and offer them lodging for this winter. You will have need of their friendship. Return their gold to them as well.” He swallowed thickly and fisted the mattress on the far side of the bed, fighting down a wave of nauseating pain. He could no longer feel his feet. “Kíli,” he gasped, his nephew, barely of age, nodded, more tears showing on his cheeks. “do not trust Thranduil. He has shown what is in his heart. When you trade, build relations with his elves, they will treat you more fairly.”

It was terrible, but they would _have_ to have Mirkwood’s support. Erebor and Laketown were fairly ruined and winter was swiftly approaching. They would have to trade for food. He was not foolish enough to think that Thranduil would be kind. The Iron Hills had no where near enough to feed them all.

He had been such a fool. Blinded by lust for the gold and power that it promised. When he had opened the secret door to Erebor he had only seen it as a way to _finally_ provide for his people. They would never have to beg again.

Then he had seen the hoard of gold, magnificent beyond measure, and his heart had changed. He saw not only a means to provide, he saw _power_. They would make others _beg_.

He had turned no better than Thranduil. He had denied the people of Laketown anything. He had, in his heart, intended to give them the gold of Dale, but nothing more. He had not wanted to even offer them shelter. Dwarrows would be the first to settle in Erebor, and no one else.

There was no more advice to be given. He had no time for anything else, and his strength was waning fast. He needed to see Bilbo, to make things right between them. He had to thank Balin and Dwalin for their unending service, and make certain that Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur were knighted. Fíli and Kíli would see that everyone else was given the proper status, but they were all of noble blood.

So little time.

“Namad-inùdoy,” (sister’s sons) he quietly intoned, and lifted his working hand to grasp the back of Kíli’s head. He brought him close and pressed their foreheads against each other for a moment before releasing him and doing the same with Fíli.

The pain in his broken body was nothing to the pain in his heart. He had to remind himself that this was a gift. He was given the time to make a few amends. There was not enough time to truly say all that he might wish.

He had never been very good at speaking his heart. Even now he could not say the four simple words he so wanted to. _I love you both._ It was a weakness he could not allow himself. He had to be strong, even in death.

The tent opened again and Fíli stood up. He helped Kíli do the same and gave Thorin a long look before stepping back.

He was being memorized. It was odd to know that someone was trying to remember you because they did not believe they would meet you again.

They walked away, revealing Balin and Bilbo in the tent entrance. The sunset shone behind them, making it hard to see any details in their faces.

He motioned with his hand for them to come in. He felt terribly cold.

Bilbo approached slowly while Balin turned to stand guard at the entrance. He laid a soft hand on Fíli’s shoulder as they left.

Bilbo was bruised on the right side of his face, and had a bandage on his left arm. He looked otherwise unhurt. His hair was matted with knots, the bronze curls no longer quite so bright.

Thorin’s chest ached at the sight of him. Bilbo, the hobbit he had never wanted along. He had thought him too weak to go on such a journey. He knew what cruelties would lie before them and saw no point in taking someone so innocent and naive on such a thing. It would be nothing but madness and torture.

Bilbo had proven him endlessly wrong. He had won Thorin’s respect and friendship and repaid it with a brightness that was beyond value in such a dark quest. He had softened Thorin’s heart at some point on the journey, and now it felt like he would die from what he had never said rather than the wound in his  chest.

He had fancied himself betrayed (he had been) and he had allowed that to cloud his judgement. What words did one say to fix that?

They had acted too rashly, and neither had taken a moment to simply _listen_. Bilbo had stolen their most sacred artifact, and he had very nearly killed him in retaliation and rage.

“Farewell, good thief,” he started, swallowing thickly as Bilbo knelt at his side. The hobbit’s eyes were dull and tired. Full of pain and memory that Thorin could not soften.

Oh how he had failed. “I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed.” Bilbo’s eyes widened and his breath hitched the tiniest bit. Thorin wanted to reach out and comfort the small creature, but he could not. He had to remain strong. “Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate…”

He would go to his death remembering the fear and resignation in Bilbo’s eyes. He would not touch Bilbo, not even now. He would never touch Bilbo again. His heart thumped at the thought, painful and tired. His breath was already ragged or it might have left him in a gasp. As it was, there was no sign of his faltering will. Of the bone deep need he had to reach out and cup Bilbo’s cheek. It was dangerous to consider even now on his death bed.

He was not meant for such things. He could not afford to feel them. He had forfeited all right to them in his madness.

“There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure.” A heart that was worth more than gold, a voice that could light any darkness and a will to make the cruel world better. What words could describe a creature who gave up his own home to help thirteen unknown, lost, and lonely dwarrows reclaim their own home? Loyalty, honor, a willing heart… Bilbo had proven each. Would that he could do this quest anew and change how it had happened.

They would have avoided both Mirkwood and Laketown for starts. He would have gotten the door to Erebor opened, and waited for Gandalf after. Perhaps the wizard would have resisted the call of gold.

It had certainly bested man, elf, and dwarf. Even Bilbo had claimed the Arkenstone before he knew its worth.

“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” Bilbo drew in a shaky breath and Thorin fancied he saw tears forming in the hobbit’s eyes. He could not look away regardless. “But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!”

Words flittered around his head but he couldn’t say any of them. He could barely feel his body, and it was growing darker as he slumped against the bed. Bilbo stood shakily and, with a gasp, he fled the tent.

Thorin’s heart constricted in pain as the hobbit disappeared around the corner. He had wished to hear his voice one last time. He would never know if Bilbo had forgiven him now.

It was fitting, really. He certainly had not earned such forgiveness. Regardless of Bilbo’s actions, he had very nearly killed him. He had banished him without listening and had treated him as far less than a friend.

Balin knelt at his side and felt his brow. “I’ll fetch Óin.” He was gone before Thorin could tell him not to. He didn’t think he would make it until the healer returned. At least there had been a witness. Bilbo would not now have to worry about being denied what was rightfully his.

“Is that it?”

The voice was like music on the air and made Thorin think of his childhood. He felt, more by the moment, as if he was back in his mother’s arms while she rocked him and sang him to sleep. “You will say nothing of your true heart?” The voice changed and he found himself remembering the garden outside of Bilbo’s house, the scent of flowers and vegetables heavy on the air. He blinked, trying to find air to clear his vision. His visitor, apparently aware of his limitations, moved nearer. There was a moment of struggling for air, and then a face, glowing faintly and more lovely than any he had ever seen, was peering down at him. She had elven features, high cheekbones, pale skin, pointed ears, and her eyes were green. Her hair was long and golden, curly with beads woven into a few braids that shone like starlight.

He was dying and hallucinating. There wouldn’t be time to bid his oldest friend farewell. He should have spoken while Balin was near. He would have asked that he relay his thanks to Dwalin as well...

He sent a fervent prayer to Mahal that his guard was still alive. It was hard to gather his thoughts.

“Even now, when there is no harm that can come from it, you will hold your tongue? Does he not deserve to know the truth?”

The words made no sense to him, and he could not draw in a single breath to respond. The lady, who was glowing faintly with a golden light that made him think of sunlight mornings, blinked. Her brow furrowed in mild concern and then her expression cleared. She waved a  hand over Thorin’s chest and he found air for his lungs.

“What,” he managed between greedy gulps of air, “do you speak of?” It occurred to him, somewhat distantly, that it was not normal to carry on conversations with glowing women who just appeared out of thin air. Then again, Thorin was very well acquainted with madness. This was just one more facet of it. He had hoped to die with a clear mind.

“Your heart, Thorin Oakenshield. The one that you will not speak of even now.”

And apparently his insanity wished to berate him. His father and grandfather hadn’t suffered such things. “I have spoken my heart.”

“Not once did you utter a word of love.” Her eyes darkened, looking like trees before a rain. Vibrant and dangerous. He didn’t know why he was seeing such a thing now.

“There was no need. My nephews know of my-”

Her eyes flashed like lightning and the air seemed to crackle. “Fool. Mountain’s son, you are dying. There is no time to argue such things with me. Why will you not tell even one of them that you love them? You spoke of what it was to rule, you thanked another, and finally you spoke of friendship. Not of love.”

That _was_ love. For Thorin that was a declaration, more than he had ever previously given. He could never be compromised in such a way. Not even in death.

And who was she, strange glowing creature, to tell him how to live? Why was his madness toying with him in this way? “I will not. I have said all that I wish.” That, of course, was not remotely true. He would cherish a moment to embrace his nephews. To thump heads with Dwalin and truly thank him for his sacrifices. To apologize to Balin for not understanding.

To hear Bilbo’s voice light with laughter. “And If I gave you a chance?”

His madness was cruel beyond measure. He should have destroyed the stone when he was a lad. It would have saved him much grief. “I would continue as I have.”

It was apparently the wrong thing to say. The lady frowned, and she suddenly seemed as cold as moonlight on a winters night.

The air grew warm around them, far from pleasantly. The lady stood taller and raised her hand. She ran it over his body, hovering just above him, and sang something in a language that he couldn’t understand. His skin tingled at the words and it felt like there was a vise squeezing at his heart. He gasped vainly for air as his side flared with pain as the lady’s eyes met his. “Hear me now, stone-tender. You will walk this earth, doomed to see and absorb what you fear until you embrace it. Until you can speak your heart and understand the heart of others, you will lack the control you so cling to.” Her eyes seemed to grow brighter until he could see nothing else, and then the pain was too much. He tilted his head back and cried out, his eyes clenching as the world roared around him.


	2. Chapter 2

Balin was glaring at him when he awoke abruptly. “What happened?”

Thorin couldn’t speak, his entire body felt like it was still on fire. Even the fabric of the blanket hurt his tender skin. His mouth was dry and his throat felt worn ragged. He was dazed, confused, and still in the tent.

“You are healing. How are you healing? Was it Gandalf?”

“For Mahal’s sake!” Óin snapped, shouldering past Balin with a pitcher and mug. “Give him some water.”

The mug was pressed to his lips and cool liquid splashed out of it and into his mouth. It tasted better than any liquid had ever tasted. Cool and sweet and refreshing in every way he needed.

So why on earth did he feel irritation licking at his mind. Fear he could understand, but irritation? He was still alive. There was no need to be irritated at that. He had thought he would never take another breath.

Óin drew the cup away before he could drink his fill and patted his hand as he did so. He straightened up and peered down with a considering frown. “Your wounds are a sight better than when I left you yesterday evening. The chest wound has started to heal over, and your ribs are now simply cracked instead of shattered. Even the swelling in your head has gone down. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Óin’s hand glided over his wounds as he spoke, his eyes narrowed in thought.

“And I,” Balin cut in impatiently, “would very much like to know _how_?”

The memory of a glowing face and voice like music fluttered in his mind, barely tangible, and utterly unreal. He could not speak of such a hallucination. It would be nothing more than the madness returning.

It was unimportant either way. He was healing, and that was all that mattered. Mahal and Eru had seen fit to give him another chance. He would not waste it. He would lead Erebor into a prosperity that had never before been witnessed in Middle Earth. She would reclaim all her glory from his childhood, and have more besides. He would crown Fíli his heir in her shining halls, and knights his loyal company.

Even Bilbo would be gifted an entire suite of rooms for his assistance and loyalty.

He was going to _live_ to see her prosper. He could correct his many wrongs. He could be the king his people believed in, the king that twelve other dwarrows had followed on a suicidal mission. A king who would never again subcumb to gold lust.

“Was it the reason you cried out?”

“Balin,” Óin growled with a glare that made the other dwarf pause, if only for a moment, “he may not know. Let’s not interrogate him until he’s fully out of the woods. If you continue to nag, I will kick you out.” He brought a damp cloth, one Thorin hadn’t seen him grab, to his head and placed it on his brow. It was comforting in a simple way that he associated with relief from fevered pain. He was groggy like willow bark or poppy seeds always made him, and he felt a flare of deep annoyance at that realization.

Óin knew he hated taking drugs of that sort. He could seldom afford to be anything but alert. Now, when it was possible he would still die, he wanted to be clear headed more than ever.

Fear became more noticeable in his mind. It curled around him, blooming hot and heavy in his belly and making his chest tremble. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was losing all his carefully sought control. He clenched his eyes shut and swallowed thickly, thankful that the water had made such things possibles.

“Who else is alive?” He only knew that his nephews, Óin, Balin, and Bilbo were well. The rest could be very dead. He hadn’t asked before, trusting that they had all made it. It would be far more peaceful to die believing his dwarrows had lived on long after he had.

“The Company has all been accounted for. Dwalin, Nori, and Bofur have all been assigned to bed rest. The rest have pulled through with manageable injury. Gandalf has left with Beorn and Radagast to hold some sort of council with the elves.” Balin answered without hesitation, apparently putting his annoyance to the side for a moment. “Fíli is leading in your stead. He has all the men of Laketown, and the dwarrows of the Iron Hills, working to clear a section of Erebor for habitation before winter reaches us.”

His dwarrows were alive, and his nephew was leading them until he could (possibly) resume his role.

He might live…

He could see Erebor reborn. He had never thought of what would happen after. This entire time it had simply been about removing Smaug from his home. Reclaiming it from the evil that had stolen it. He'd had precious little time to think of the after. To imagine the halls filled with laughter and song once more.

The ache of want for it now was keen. Unable to be ignored and consuming. If he lived or died, his people had a home.

“It wasn’t Gandalf!” A voice that was far too loud for Thorin’s still tender head called eagerly as a young dwarf ran into the tent. His braids clanked against each other as he drew to a sharp stop. “Sorry!” Ori squeaked at Thorin’s subtle wince. The irritation that had been flickering in the back of his mind disappeared entirely to be replaced by a happiness that was very nearly giddy.

Another dwarf that was well. He studied him as best he could, noticing the thin scratches that marred his cheeks.

Irritation fluttered in his stomach again.

“Gandalf didn’t heal him? Was it Radagast?” Balin inquired, ignoring Ori’s abrupt entry and apology.

“No. At least, I don’t think he did. He seemed confused when I asked him.” Ori replied dutifully. His eyes kept darting back to Thorin.

“It’s alright, lad. You can have a look. The king is very much alive and, against all odds, getting stronger by the moment.” Óin spoke softly with a proud glint in his eyes that had Ori approaching the bed slowly. If it weren’t for the herb Óin had given him, he would have sat up to further reassure the dwarf. He could handle whatever pain his healing body would have given him. He could not handle the way the world swam around him. "Perhaps we should say it was Gandalf anyway. We can't have anyone thinking this was ill magic. He's gone now, so it will take ages for us to ask his permission... I think he'd go with it." Óin continued to mutter on, careless that he had only Thorin's attention.

“It looked like such a terrible blow.” Ori murmured under his breath. Thorin felt his chest ache at the way the words were said. He would spare them such pain. He could feel the pain of it deep in his own chest, mixing with the strange irritation he couldn’t understand, and a sudden fear. “Dwalin told me it was survivable, but I thought it was just-” he cut himself off abruptly and met Thorin’s gaze. His ears turned red. “Sorry, Sire. I have to inform the others.” He swallowed thickly and took a step back. He shared a smile with Balin and then he was fairly well fleeing the tent.

There seemed to be a strange glow around his feet. A dark brown that looked like the leather on his favorite notebook.

Perhaps he was in need of more rest. Concussions could make one see strange things, though he had never suffered such effects.

“We’ll have to lie then.” Balin sighed, slumping. His eyes trailed over Thorin fretfully. “I had hoped it was Gandalf.”

“We could say it was the three of them. Beorn, Gandalf, and Radagast. Gandalf isn’t likely to refute the claim, Beorn will probably never be asked, and Radagast wouldn’t know what they were talking about.” Óin lifted the covers as he spoke and prodded at one of the bandages on Thorin’s chest. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it should have. He wasn’t certain if that was because of the drug or healing.

Had he not dreamt her then? Had he truly been healed by someone who tried to curse him?

“Bard, Thranduil, and Dain all saw him with his wounds when Beorn carried him away. They’ll testify that he was near death.”

“I remember nothing but pain.” Thorin murmured, his voice oddly distant sounding. It wasn’t true at all, but he would not risk others thinking he was mad again.

Balin’s eyes were worried, and Thorin could feel worry in his own bones. “Then we’ll have to keep looking.”

“Or accept a blessing for what it is.” Óin declared as he laid the covers back over Thorin’s chest. He smoothed them out with age worn hands and a soft small. “For the King has come unto his halls.”

-[]-[]-[]-

He continued to grow stronger more swiftly than he should have. By the next morning he was able to walk, though only his dwarrows knew it. They each stopped by his tent, several with aid, and spoke with him again. He stayed in the tent for another week before he ventured out, heavily assisted by Balin even if the aid was not needed. By the end of the next week he left the tent with no aid and marched across the field to join Fíli at the council. The others had reported that the humans and elves and other dwarrows were accepting the idea of Gandalf, Beorn, and Radagast speeding his healing.

A dwarf he did not know pulled the tent flap back, and Balin escorted him inside with a curious frown.

He tried not to look down. Every time he did, he noticed that there seemed to be light leaking out of whoever he could see. They were all varying shades, no two exactly a like, so far. He was certain it was merely an effect of the concussion he had suffered. Something that would vanish with time.

He couldn't afford to think otherwise. He refused to dwell on what had happened as he lay dying. It was madness, and nothing more. He would not fall prey to such a thing ever again. Whatever the reason, he had been given a second chance. He would not waste it. He would lead Erebor to prosperity and make certain she was never wanting for anything, to the best of his ability.

He would have given his life for her, now he got to live it for her.

After the meeting he intended to inspect the progress on the halls of Erebor. He needed to see them with his own eyes and make certain they were alive.

Everyone in the room but Bard stood as he entered. He was willing to forgive the Lord of Dale the oversight because of the bandages wrapped around his leg. There was an undeniable delight to seeing Thranduil have to stand for him.

The elf was on his land now.

Aside from the two of them, there were four other men, three elves, and five dwarrows present. Balin came with him, so their company now numbered sixteen. “It is good to see you walking, my cousin.” Dain said with a dip of his head. The other dwarf lord he had brought with him bowed as well. Dori, Fíli, and Kíli bowed as well.

Thranduil raised a thin eyebrow when his son dipped his head in respect, and Thorin felt a surge of annoyance that was nearly hard to control.

He did not understand himself.

Things like that kept happening at the most unusual of times. Irritaion, anger, fear, joy… Emotions he could not understand and did not think he should feel. They would come upon him strongly and everything else was felt all the more strongly.

“May I present my council: Legolas, my son and heir; Tauriel, head of my guard; and Ivonwin, my chief councillor.” Thranduil indicated each elf as he spoke. He had met two of them, but the third, a tall elf with silvery blonde hair, was unknown to him. She had green eyes that were oddly familiar and a mischievous smirk that looked odd on the face of an elf.

Bard introduced his men while sitting, two brothers, a lady of an ancient line, and a boat trader. It was obvious by the raised eyebrow Thranduil gave that he considered them to not belong.

Fury rushed through him as he sat down, hot and tight in his belly. Of all present, the elf had least reason to be there. It was solely by their good will that he was allowed at the meeting.

He could hear Bilbo in the back of his mind. “Thranduil. His name is _Thranduil_ , and you have to be polite. He has food.” It was amazing how clearly he could imagine the hobbit shaking his head with a small, amused smile. Balin would be standing next to him, an expression on his face halfway between a frown and smile. He had a deep dislike of elves, but would agree with Bilbo that diplomacy was needed.

Perhaps… perhaps if the hobbit did not return to the Shire… perhaps he would assign him to handle the elves. He could train Kíli as well.

He banished the thought moments after it arrived. He hadn’t seen Bilbo since the hobbit had literally fled his tent. He was clearly returning to the Shire. Thorin had burned that bridge quite dramatically. Willing though he was to try and trust Bilbo again, the hobbit did not feel the same. Thorin would not fault him for such a thing.

Gandalf, Radagast, Beorn, and a number of elves had left the morning he first awoke to attend some sort of a council. He would have liked to have spoken with him before he vanished. He should like to have thanked him for his part in reclaiming Erebor.

The meeting seemed to drag on forever, made worse by a horrible suspicion Thorin started to have about an hour in. It was one that had been growing in the dark places of his mind since he’d woken, but it was easy enough to ignore when it was just himself.

It was strange to find himself the leader, as the questioning looks he received before each decision made clear. He had always had to fight for such things. Even his own kin looked at him as unimportant. He was a king without a land. The Goblin King had summarized best what that made him: _Nobody really._

Now that he finally had the power, he really just wanted to see how his nephews handled such things. Fíli was gifted with words, as always, and Kíli was eager. Bard was a watcher, ever listening and learning. He would be one to keep close eyes on. He was far more clever than the Master-whatever his name- had been. They would have to make certain to keep good relations with him. Men who thought were dangerous.

According to Balin, offering the gold from Dale, and lodging for winter had been a very good offer. Bard had accepted it gratefully and said to give thanks to _Thorin_. He had not thought they would ever speak again.

There were so many relationships to repair.

Still, none of that had been odd. It had been expected. It was the way Thorin felt that made his hackles rise and his chest churn. He kept finding himself deeply irritated, angry at what he truly considered good ideas, and sad when ever mention was made of Laketown.

It felt like they were not his emotions. They had no connection to his actual thoughts and felt almost wrong somehow. He had tried, very hard, in the last days not to think of what the glowing lady in his madness had said. How it had sounded very much like a curse, and how he seemed to be feeling far more than would be normal. Coupled with the strange glow that seemed to pour out of people, he was nearing a painfully horrible conclusion.

_Hear me now, stone-tender. You will walk this earth, doomed to see and absorb what you fear until you embrace it. Until you can speak your heart and understand the heart of others, you will lack the control you so cling to._

It seemed very possible he had irritated someone with magic. He had no clue what he had done, but there was only so long he could ignore the signs.

It felt like madness to admit it, even in his thoughts. The emotions weren’t madness though. He knew how madness felt in an intimate way. He knew the dark call of her thoughts. The way she made one feel as if they were the only sane one in a world intent on ruining them.

Insanity didn’t make one feel insane. The very fact that he thought himself mad assured him that he wasn’t.

So… He was feeling the emotions of others. He had been cursed to feel emotions? He had seen truly ridiculous things in the last year, and that would hardly be the strangest.

He was not crazy. That was all he was certain of. 


	3. Chapter 3

He exited the tent after nearly everyone else had left. They all glew a slight bit, and he felt his body grow less rigid as each individual left. His emotions quieted, no longer so tight and consuming until it was nothing but worry and a very healthy dose of fear.

They had all wanted to speak. Most had expressed their joy at his swift recovery. Bard had spoke of his eagerness to aid in the clearing of Erebor for winter.

When the tent was finally empty he took a moment to simply breathe. His ribs ached dully in his chest, and his side was still tender from the wound that was neatly healing. His emotions felt frazzled and raw, and it was harder than it should have been to sort through them.

He slipped away with no one by his side. Being King had advantages in that he could order everyone else away. There were people walking about everywhere, each tending to a different task.

Dwalin was a dozen or so feet in front of him. He had an arm wrapped around Ori’s shoulder as he half limped, half hopped towards Thorin’s tent. He had made the trip to Thorin’s every day, regardless of the disapproving glower that Óin inevitably sent him. They had a deep bond, and it was one that others who had never fought with another could understand.

Ori was chattering away as they went, and Dwalin was listening with an occasional grunt of acknowledgment. It was their legs. He had not yet paid attention to Dwalin’s color, he had tried very hard to avoid looking, but he could see them both plainly now. Ori’s glowing color was still the dark leathery color of his notebook, the same as it had been yesterday, and Dwalin’s was the same shade. His brow furrowed as he watched Dwalin hobble away with Ori. “They match.” He murmured to himself, trying to make some sense of it. His eyes flickered around the rest of the camp, but he saw no one else that matched in color. Each was unique.

Yet Dwalin and Ori matched.

It was seeming more and more like a curse.

 _Of course they match._ The words flittered by his ear, carried by the wind and as quiet as a whisper against his skin. Musical at it’s essence, and familiar enough to make his skin crawl.

“Pardon?” Ivonwin, tall and thin in the sunlight, swept by his side until she was few feet in front of him. She turned and clasped her hands in front of herself expectantly. “What matches?”

He blinked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. His heart pounded in shock at the voice that he had to have imagined.

“Nothing.” He growled the word, not caring that he sounded irritated. She turned her head to consider the pair who had all but vanished. He turned to leave. He would think in his tent while he waited for Óin to examine him. He would ignore the feet of his dwarrows and pretend to be pleasant. Once he was given the all clear he would aid in clearing out Erebor for habitation.

He made it a point not to speak with elves more than he needed. He invariably turned rude. As much as he did not want to think about it, they did need the elves. The Iron Hills had no where near enough resources to feed them all. They would have been capable of providing for fourteen until the caravans from Ered Luin arrived, but not all the men of Dale.

Laketown had been near starvation before Smaug descended on it.

“It wasn’t their boots, though you were looking at their...feet.” Ivonwin said, paying no attention to the fact that he was leaving. Surprise flickered in his stomach with the same strange, not-his-emotion-ness that he had felt so strongly in the meeting. She paused and turned her head slowly, a strange look on her face. “What was it you said?”

_Why do you distrust the first-born?_

He distrusted everyone until he knew them. He wasn’t picking specific people to distrust. He disliked the elves because of how they had always treated his people.

And he was arguing with a voice that had no one to speak it.

Fear curled low in his stomach, cold and consuming. He did not want to think about what hearing voices meant.

“It frightens you? That something matches?” The elf tilted her head and Thorin gave his head a shake.

“I do not know what you are speaking of. I must leave.” He turned towards his tent and took three strong steps towards it. His hands pointedly didn’t tremble despite the trembling in his chest.

“Do dwarrows see emotions?” The she-elf took a step towards him, quick and light. Surprise more than anything else made him pause.

That was not something one would just jump to a conclusion on. How could she possibly even suspect? What made her think of emotions because he spoke of something matching?

Did the elves know of such things?

The back of her hand flew up to cover her mouth. She was too late to completely muffle the sound of laughter that spilled from her lips. That, more than the surprise of her guess, made him stop. He couldn’t quite stop himself from raising a disdainful eyebrow as he quietly flailed inside.

He had been cursed. He could feel it in his gut, a certainty that cut through everything else.

“You speak madness. Madness that I fail to see why should amuse you so.” Actually, he didn’t see how it could be anything but horrifying. He was a dwarf and a King. He wasn’t supposed to even feel his own emotions. He was supposed to manage, control, and ignore them until they didn’t exist. An emotional king was a king that made mistakes. His grandfather, and father had proven that countless times. He had proven it dramatically in his brief reign as well.

Bilbo’s terrified face flashed before his eyes. He could feel the weight of the hobbit as he dangled him over the gate. He had been wild with rage, and a hurt he could never find the words for. His thoughts had not been under his control. A darker, vile voice had commanded his actions.

Emotions were dangerous.

Why would he be cursed to see emotions now? What could be the use? Did she, whoever the accursed, glowing woman was, simply want to humiliate him?

“Because you’re- Oh! I can’t-“ And then Ivonwin doubled over at the waist as she clutched her stomach, and she lost it. She started laughing so hard that tears streamed down her cheeks. The sound, like tinkling bells, rang clear in the room, seeming to grow louder with every breath Thorin took. Her glow turned brighter and spread out, reaching for him. He took a measured step back, fighting panic and strange amusement. Safely away from the reaching light, he glared at the insolent and entirely too amused elf.

He had never seen an elf laugh.

“Perhaps, when you regain some measure of control, you would see fit to tell me why you would assume such a wild thing?” The tendrils of light from her glow continued to seek Thorin out even as he spoke. He mildly considered kicking at them, but felt it wouldn’t work. With his luck it would simply tangle around him.

“I’m sorry! It’s just-“ and she started giggling again. Thorin would have feared for her ability to breathe if he wasn’t trying to control the annoyance that surged through him.

Would she not just speak?

It wasn’t just madness, he had to work three times as hard to control his emotions whenever someone near him was feeling something strongly. Mahal’s hammer, there were dwarrows and men pouring into Erebor daily who were breaking down from the weight of their emotions! There were entire caravans heading towards the Lonely Mountain!

“Oh,” Ivonwin said suddenly, inhaling sharply through her nose. “you are not just seeing them, are you? You are feeling them as well? And you have not before?”

Thorin was done with this. He dragged Ivonwin to an empty tent, taking care that no one saw him do so. He would find out what she knew. Now.

She had braids in the same manner of the lady who had cursed him. He was nothing if not a suspicious dwarf. He’d never met her before today, and she worked with Thranduil. Orcs were the only living creatures he disliked more than that elf. He would be polite, and he would try, for the people that would depend on him, to keep trade, but he would never trust him, nor would he ever forgive.

“Who,” he growled as darkly as he could while his inside felt as though they were shaking, “are you?” He had spent most of his life glaring while he felt as if he were shaking. He had lost nearly all the power he wielded by the time he was thirty. He had been cast out of his home and sent to lead his people through lands that shunned them. He had worked as a lowly blacksmith, listening to the cries of his people as they struggled to feed themselves.

He was no stranger to wanting glaring at someone with more power than him.

“Ivonwin,” she answered, “advisor to Thranduil. I have grown up in the Greenwoods.” Thorin regarded her with annoyance he could barely conceal. He had never been a patient creature, but now he could feel the irritation sparking along his skin, painful and consuming. “I was a child when the dragon came.”

Then she would not have had a part in denying the dwarrows of Erebor the most basic of aid. He would not hold it against her, even if her people had done it.

He focused instead on what she knew.

“Elves can not only be telepathic. On rare occasion we have bore empaths. Empaths that are notorious for letting the emotions of other sentient beings affect how they feel. They must learn how to control those reactions or they are emotionally compromised.”

Elves were telepathic? He had never heard such a thing. He had heard tale of a witch in Lothlorien, but he had subscribed it as nothing more than wild fancies.

It was an oversight. After all, dwarrows had once possessed magic as well. The lore had been lost in Khazad-dûm. It would make sense that they had it. They had always been favored by the valar. They would get magic in their blood.

_You were made of magic as well. Or have you forgotten, Stone’s son?_

The voice was softer than it had been, as if it wanted to console him.

Who was the woman?

Ivonwin’s eyes were quick to study him. Her lips fluttered up in an understanding smile that made him even more irritated. “I can feel your emotions, and they are not all your own. I see the light as well. The auras. Every creature that walks the earth, elf, dwarf, human, hobbit, even orcs and trolls, they shine with light. The colors are uniquely them. Yours… yours is strange. It glows as all do, but it reaches for others light. It draws them unto itself.”

If he had not been seeing the very same thing, he would have thought her utterly mad.

His opinion on what was crazy had changed dramatically in the last year.

“You can see it, can you not?”

If he had been healthy, unafraid, and had he not been trying to fight off Ivonwin’s emotions, he would have remained silent. “I can.” He regretted the two words the moment they left his lips.

“This will not be easy. You were not born with the gift?” He shook his head. He might as well continue. He could deny it all later. Anyone would think her crazy. “A curse or enchantment?”

Was there a difference? “A curse.” He would not tell her anything more, and he was not certain why he was even speaking now. He didn’t feel like he had full control of his body. She knew about the auras, and that was the only reason he said so much. He could also feel her, and malice was no where to be found.

Whatever her intentions, her emotions were pure.

“Then our work is cut out for us.” The elf was now extruding sympathy, and it annoyed Thorin all the more. He could feel it mingling with his own emotions, trying to take them over. He clenched his fist and then forced his hand to relax. He mentally released each finger and relaxed each individual muscle. A breathing exercise and mental chant of precious metals helped him to ease his irritation to a level at which he could at least continue to appear calm.

That was the last thing his father had taught him before he disappeared. He had told him he would have to control his temper if he wished to rule. He would never know true impatience until he attempted to lead.

It had been utterly true.

“Our work?” Ivonwin gave him an impressed look, and, Thorin thought, a little hysterically, that he at least could fake calm. He was falling apart at the proverbial seams, but he could appear calm.

Why was he still here? He should have left long ago.

“Of course, you’re going to need all the help you can get. I obviously can’t stay here, but you can communicate by Raven. I will look into ways to aid emotional control as well as ways to end enchantments. Until Gandalf can be found again, it might be all we can do.” She gave Thorin an appraising look and grinned at what was apparently his obvious confusion. “I am an empath. I thought your emotions were odd during the council. I can see them struggling even now.”

“I see.” Thorin’s control was slowly coming back as Ivonwin gained control of her own emotions. It was an entirely terrifying observation to Thorin. This did not bode well for his immediate future.

“I would offer assistance freely. I do not know why you were cursed, but I do not think it was earned.” She strode towards the back exit of the tent without another word. “Farewell for now, mountain-born. I will see what I can learn.”

He watched her go uncertainly. He had spoken with an elf about something he had not told even his most trusted dwarrows.

Perhaps he was mad.

“Well done, Mountain’s son. There may be hope for you.” The tinkling voice filled the tent and made Thorin’s gut clench in memory. He spun as quick as he could, years of instinct making his hand settle on the sword strapped to his side. The glowing elf-like being stood before him with bright eyes and a hint of a smile. “Seek assistance if you wish, but you will continue to feel others. It will affect what you feel until you learn to accept it. Control will only get you so far.”

“Who are you? Why have you done this?”

She tilted her head, and he was struck anew by her beauty. She looked familiar somehow, not quite an elf… He couldn’t place it or why he felt the urge to relax in her presence. “I have not done such things to be cruel. That is not my way. I simply would have you find a peace you have denied yourself. You were not created to refuse such things.” She smiled, softly, and mischief twinkled in her eyes. She tossed her curls with a shake of her head, and that too was familiar. “As for who I am? I suspect you will learn in time.”

She took two steps across the tent and bent so she was face level with him. “You are strong, Stone-Born, but you will find yourself stronger when you heed my advice.” She straightened abruptly and grew brighter. “I will see you again.”

And then she was gone.

-[]-[]-[]-

Oin gave him an all clear and he immediately headed for the mountain. She was beautiful before him, calling him home. He would clean her and reveal her beauty once again. Thrain would never have done such a thing, but Thorin did not care. He would not be the sort of king to remain distant and superior. He would aid them as one of them.

They were working against time anyway. Already winter’s cruel chill could be felt on the air.

He chose a spot where he could simply move rocks with the rest of the able bodied. They were worn out and focused, not feeling much of anything. It was gratifying to be around them. The hard labor allowed him to clear his mind. To think through what had happened.

He was cursed. He was seeing and feeling others emotions. He had royally irritated someone with magic, and they had decided to heal him and toy with him.

He would control this. He would hold onto his feelings all the harder and master this. It would not control him.

He was breaking a rock with a mattock, one that might have been Bofur’s, when he felt a strange spike of emotion. It was surprise and joy mixed with a deep, nearly primal fear. He stilled in his motions, feeling tense on instinct.

“Thorin?” The voice, one he had not heard since that fateful day on the gate, made his body go utterly rigid. His own emotions flared, too strong to decipher. “Urm, sire.”

“No.” He turned, surprised at himself and how instantly aware he was of all the others in the corridor. They did not notice the dwarf and hobbit, uncaring in light of the job to be done. Good workers.

Bilbo was standing in the clothes they’d been given by the people of laketown, though they were worn and hardly fit for one who had done so much. (He would not admit, even to himself, that he did not like seeing Bilbo garbed in clothes by others) There was a glimmer of chainmail that he could see by the collar of Bilbo’s shirt, where the seam had ripped. The mithril he had gifted him. It made his chest ache while his heart seemed to throb at the sight. His curls were less matted than they had been, but still uncared for, not in the way the careful hobbit preferred. There was dirt on his cheek though his bruises had all but faded in the time since Thorin had last seen him.

“No?”

“You are not a subject of mine, and not required to call me sire. At least not in private.” Bilbo mouthed a quiet ‘oh’ and Thorin half imagined he could feel hurt coming from the hobbit. He couldn’t imagine what would cause such a thing. He wasn’t even sure why Bilbo was still here, he’d thought the hobbit would be long gone. He did not think he would look at bronze curls and eyes that danced between blue and green again.

He hated the awkwardness between them. They had gotten rid of it on the Carrock only for Thorin to ruin it all.

“Right. Sorry. I’ve been banished, haven’t I?”

Banished? He blinked in confusion for a moment, trying to think around the emotions swirling in his stomach, so much harder to control than they should have been. It took him a breath to remember, and the regret was instant. “Master Baggins,” he swallowed, masking his thoughts and shoving his feelings to the back of his mind. He was cursed to have them, not to think about them. “I have corrected the words I spoke at the gate. You are welcome to stay at Erebor for as long as you wish. When she is fully reclaimed I shall have a set of rooms dedicated to you. Whether you are here or not. You will always have a place in my Kingdom. If I draw breath or not.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened in surprise and his mouth dropped open a bit. Thorin remained standing tall. “I will not force you to stay, but you need not leave. You are welcome to call Erebor your home for as long as you wish.” He changed his stance, lowering the mattock and leaning on it. “Whatever your choice, I would ask that you stay until spring. It is unadvisable to travel over the Misty Mountains at any time, but it is folly to do so in the Winter. If you wait, I can provide an escort from Ered Luin to accompany you back.”

“I’d like to stay for a while yet.” The hobbit said, meeting Thorin’s eyes steadily. “I don’t think my adventure is quite finished.”

“It has been my experience, that Adventures are never finished. Even death is an adventure.”

“One I’m quite content to wait on.” Bilbo returned, his eyes darting down to Thorin’s chest. To the spot where there had been rather a large hole. A spiderwork scar was all that was left of the should-be-fatal blow. The question in the Burglar’s eyes was loud to be unspoken. Thorin would have been grateful for an answer to it, but he would simply ignore it. Bilbo was too polite to ask.

“What about you? What will the next adventure hold for you? Balin said you wouldn’t be crowned until the new year?”

Thorin nodded his head and scooped the mattock back up. He turned towards the wall and concentrated on the rubble in front of him. “Correct. Bard and I have both decided to wait until the new year to officially take on the cloak of leadership. I have long been king by blood, but to do so officially…” he cut himself off and focused on the stone underhand. “It  will give us time to settle as well. The next few years will be anything but easy, I fear.”

“Dori pointed the gardens out to me. They’re in want of a good deal of care, but I think they can be saved. Smaug, for whatever reason, did not burn them.”

“Smaug cared only for gold. Once he obtained it, he cared for nothing else.” He had not had a chance to look on the gardens. They were well hidden on the side of the mountain.

Had they simply given the order to flee earlier, they could have saved countless dwarrows. His people would not have been cornered in a room to starve unto death.

A monument would have to be built for those lost in the fires. He would set the best builders on it. The original inhabitants could carve it…

“He missed the real beauty of your home then. Is there anything I can do to assist? Bombur told me I was too picky for the kitchens until we got more supplies.” He shrugged, a smile playing at his lips. “You recommend a little spice and everyone looks at you like your crazy.”

Thorin scanned the hobbit critically. He was bruised, favoring his left side, and it looked like there were a few bandages on his toes. What had he gotten into while Thorin healed?

He had a faint green glow. It was nearly the color of his eyes. Lovely in hue, earthy and fresh as spring -and dear Mahal where was his mind going?

The hobbit would not be up for intense physical exertion. Thorin would not aggravate the injuries while they mended. That counted out clearing rocks. “Would you bring water to the men? They aren’t used to working with the stone. Dwarrows need less to work. I would not have anyone ill on my watch.”

“Water?” Bilbo perked up at the suggestion, and Thorin was hit with excitement and happiness from him. It made his own pulse spike and he had to focus on the rocks under his hand to remain stoic.

Curse the glowing woman.

“I’ll go and see to it.” And with that the Burglar was rushing away, a smile firmly on his lips. It did not, in any way, bode well for Thorin how much he enjoyed the sight. He swung the mattock, mind suddenly on how very thirsty he was.

He only hoped water would satisfy the ache of need.


	4. Chapter 4

Thorin was trying very hard not to fidget. He felt shaky inside and he was painfully aware of all the laughter at the lower tables. Mainly because he wasn’t feeling any of it.

Someone at his table was trying not to panic. And their worry was affecting him. He could feel it in every inch of his body. His own heart was pounding and his palms felt sweaty. He had not been nervous at a feast since he was eighteen. A lifetime ago. That had only been because his mother had threaten to disown him if he played another prank on his sister.

It was irritating him that he couldn’t figure the source out. There were over a dozen of people near enough to affect his emotions. The curse had an unfortunately long range. The stronger the emotion the longer it reached.

It had taken a solid week of hard work to clear the entrance to Erebor once more. When she was finally opened, the stink of dragon and rot had to be cleared out. Thranduil brought an incense that did the trick, muttering about fire drakes from the north and insolent dwarves as he did so. His son, the blond elf with blue eyes that had first captured them in the forest, assisted in placing large pots of the ground plants in the different rooms. It was work that was far beneath his station - which his father reminded him of - but the elf assisted none the less. Thorin spotted Fíli aiding him, laughter on his lips as they worked.

It was disconcerting to see, but necessary. The next generation could not bear the same prejudices. Not if they wished to survive. They would need at least a basic trading relationship.

Thorin, Bard, and Thranduil lit the first pots, then they passed the torches to the others and allowed them to light the rest. They burned through the night and in the morning, the air could be breathed again.

The quarters on the lower levels had been largely unharmed. The middle level had suffered the most damage, as Smaug had blasted through them on his frantic search for their gold hoard.

The upper levels would need to be carefully examined. Stability would be in question even if it hadn’t been so many years. He would risk no one in a collapse. The Company had first pick, then the men of Laketown, and lastly the dwarrows from the Iron Hills got to chose their rooms. The elves finally set out for Mirkwood and Thorin found himself able to breathe easier. Ivonwin’s eyes seemed to follow him everywhere, always assessing.

He had decided the best course of action for now would be to simply ignore the emotions and light. He had no reason to speak with the she-elf, and therefore had no reason to pretend he wasn’t ignoring her because of it.

They had arranged for a feast the night when they finally could move in. The new year was a week away, and the excitement for it could be felt in the air wherever he went.

Which is where his current problem was arising. He was seated at the head table with the Company, Bard, his men, and a few of Dain’s dwarrows. The ale was flowing, along with the food, and it had loosened everyones lips.

Laughter was flowing. He hadn’t thought to hear it ringing through the halls of Erebor quite so soon. There were jokes cracked and stories told while they worked, of course, but it had been smaller. This felt like a true feast, one that forgot all the sorrow that still hung in the halls.

He _really_ needed to find another seat before he went mental. There was worry in his gut that it was one of the company, one of his own, that felt so depressed and panicked. It was mixed with worry that it might be one of Bard’s men as well. They’d have a harder time living as a group if the men felt like that just eating with dwarrows.

He could not effectively lead with his mind half on what others were feeling. He could not afford to even consider his own emotions. They would compromise at the best of times, and destroy all he had worked for at the worst of times.

So he sat back, ignoring his ale and considered those around him, letting his mind get lost among the conversation while he focused on locking his emotions away.

If only it were that easy.

“You seem distracted.” Bard observed with a low rumble of words as he reached for his ale. He was amused if anything, which was reassuring at least.

“It has been too long since laughter rang in these halls.” The man gazed steadily ahead, but Thorin could feel himself being watched out of the man’s peripherals. The amusement lessened, but nothing negative replaced it. Except for the horrible anxiety he still couldn’t place.

Bard was an intelligent man, one who had lived a very hard life. He had little respect for Thranduil, which had become evident in the councils. Thorin was inclined to like him solely for that.

He knew very little about dwarrows. Bard seemed to be eternally studying them with some level of amusement. He was utterly fascinated by Bilbo (who he got along with best) and willing to listen.

The relationship would be repaired, with time. Thorin had acted far too hastily when he had reached Laketown. They had been out of time and he had not thought on the Dragon attacking them. He would have warned them to take shelter. He was not responsible for Smaug, or the dragon’s actions, but he could have offered the simple advice.

Though, why they weren’t prepared when all knew a _dragon_ was resting in the mountain that was beside them… He would never understand.

He had a feeling that Bard shared his irritation in that neglect.

“It will be a long winter.” Thorin nodded and kept his gaze on the laughing men. He wasn’t certain if it was an observation, a worry, or a threat.

It was true regardless.

-[]-[]-[]-

“You’re quiet.” Bilbo observed quietly. It was ironic enough that Thorin wanted to smile, but he easily ignored it. He could control his body if nothing else. “You were excellent at the feast.”

Thorin would go to his grave before he admitted it, but seeing and knowing what others at the feast, like Bard, were feeling was unendingly useful. It aided him in knowing when to back off, what to pursue and what to press to get the most desirable goals.

He’d discovered that after Bard started talking. He’d known how to continue, and he’d gone forward with it following what the man felt. It seemed a bit manipulative, but Thorin had lived a long life full of manipulation and manipulating.

It was harder to be calloused about the whole thing than it should have been. In Ered Luin he would not have thought twice about making such a thing useful.

He was simply worn. Exhausted to his very bone. He wanted to sleep and not wake up until winter was gone. Perhaps the warmth and brightness of spring would renew his strength.

“My thoughts have been unpleasant of late. I can mask such things when I have need to forge alliances.” He spared Bilbo a glance before looking back at the corridor in front of them. “You did not see me at my best. These are the leaders I need alliances with.”

Bilbo nodded his head, an unnatural expression on his face. The hobbit had trouble hiding what he thought and felt. It was clear he had never been trained on the finer art of concealment. He was open in all that he did.

Their friendship, if he could still call it that, had been strained since he’d woken up. Bilbo had never officially forgiven him, and he hadn’t said if he would stay for more than the winter. He was guarded any time they spoke, and it just reminded Thorin of what he’d very nearly done. It made speaking of any kind difficult. Bilbo had no reason to attempt friendship.

Still, the hobbit had spoken with him whenever they were near to each other. He had hope that it would be repaired. He had done all he could for the moment. The next step was up to Bilbo.

It was strange that he did not know how to proceed. Bilbo was easy to get along with, he had been from the beginning. That in itself had annoyed Thorin. He had been rejected by his own family and this strange little hobbit had just up and decided to aid him. Then, the curious creature had gotten along with everyone in his company. He had taken years to earn the trust of them, and they gave it to Bilbo with very little resistance.

It was because he was to be their king. He could not be on the same level as them all. They had to be more wary in trusting him. He’d had to prove himself to them.

They turned down a long corridor and Thorin firmly shook off his morose thoughts.

There was a little bit of hope, and something he couldn’t quite find words for in Bilbo’s emotions. The soft green-glow seemed lighter in hue than it was usually. Thorin wanted to touch it. To see if it was as warm and soothing as it looked.

“No, I fully believe the charming bit. I remember the smile you gave the Master to coax him into giving us weapons. Goodness, you even had Smaug doing what you wanted. Though charm didn’t feature too heavily there.”

“The witless worm was easy to cajole. He had a ego the likes of which I have never seen. As you know, that is saying quite a lot.” Bilbo snorted, nearly a laugh.

“I would assume you were thinking of Thranduil, but I can think of at least a dozen others who would fit that.”

Including himself. Perhaps he had not chosen the most clever of topics.

Bilbo was watching him with a frown. He quickly schooled his expression into something less telling of his unease. Pointless because Thorin could still feel it coming off the hobbit in dousing waves. “Did, did you mean it when you said you took back your words at the gate?”

“Yes.” There was nothing more to say to that. He had nothing he could add. He had apologized and declared it corrected three times now.

“I regret it, you know.” He paused, when Thorin narrowed his eyes in confusion. It was the most he could allow himself. “Stealing the Arkenstone. I didn’t think anything of it until after things went a bit south. Then I was worried about everyone dying. It never even occurred to me to ask if you had a plan of any kind.”

_Guilt_. That was the emotion he couldn’t find a name for. He could recognize it as similar to the hot flare in his own belly.

“I was concerned about the lack of front gate.” He blurted. Amusement flared against his skin and he saw Dwalin move closer out of the corner of his eye. The dwarf was the head of security in Erebor, which he mostly took to mean he was to be Thorin’s constant shadow. He’d woken up several times to find Dwalin stationed at the foot of his bedroll. He kept silent watch all through the night. Thorin was uncertain when he found time to sleep.

Not that any of them required much sleep. Hard years and evil dreams had honed them to need little rest.

Bilbo saw the guard as well. His lips quirked up in a helpless smile, and for a moment Thorin saw a spark of the deep joy that seemed to run so easily through hobbits. The hall was quiet and empty aside from them. It was dark in the way that only mountains could really achieve. A heavy darkness that was in the air, one familiar and warm to Thorin. If he closed his eyes he’d be able to hear the mountain. The sound of her innerworkings that she gifted to her children. The thing that made a dwarf truly feel at home.

The torches that lined the hall lit the path ahead but didn’t dispel the deep dark of the other halls. They hadn’t been fully cleared yet, though they were mostly open. Thankfully the dragon had kept most every other form of life away, or they’d have to post a lot more guards than they had. Erebor was large and could hide many secrets if she wished.

She was already concealing several of his.

“Lack of gate?” Bilbo asked, returning to their conversation. He had nearly forgotten the subject in his thoughts. Coming back to himself he felt alarm, amusement, curiosity, and guilt mixing with his own emotions.

“There were two armies on our doorstep intent on the gold of my people. Had I given them anything, a mob might have formed.” Erebor’s gold was cursed. A mere glimpse was all it required to put you under a spell. Once they’d had a taste of her wealth, they would not be satisfied.

Once they had cleared their way to the treasure trove he would have it spread out among four separate chambers. He would give the men of Dale their treasure back, and gift the Iron Hills a portion as well. Thorin himself would never set foot in the treasure chambers again. The Arkenstone would be buried in the heart of the mountain on the tombs of his forefathers. It would be removed only in the direst need.

He would risk no further madness for himself, or the rest of his family. The insanity would die with him.

Bilbo mouthed a small ‘O.’ He had been lucky in his life to see very little of what gold did to others. Thorin had been willing to give the gold of Dale back to the men of Laketown that it had belonged to, but he would be damned to eternal torment with Morgoth if was going to give Thranduil a single piece of anything. The elf had captured him, refused to treat them properly, and aided no one when the dragon came. There was no world where Thorin owed him anything. He had no idea how the lying coward had turned Bard into believing he did, but he would spend the rest of his days trying to show him that they did not.

“The Shire was a peaceful place, Master Baggins. My kin and I have not been so lucky in our places of residence. I cannot afford to think differently.”

“Like Dwalin on the prowl over there?” Bilbo asked with a nod of his head and a smile. He was trying to lighten the subject, and Thorin considered for a long moment whether he wanted to do so. He was tired of the awkwardness and uncertain how to be rid of it. He wanted to ask Bilbo if he would consider being a member of the council of Erebor. He had an utterly unique view and was rather more clever than he looked. That would be unendingly useful in meetings. When others thought you unintelligent you could learn anything from them.

Not to mention that the hobbit had a natural way with elves.

“I can hear.” Dwalin called before melting into the shadows. He was good at giving the illusion of privacy, though Thorin knew he did it only so that others wouldn’t know he was near.

Bilbo huffed a quiet breath that was very near a laugh, and it made something in Thorin’s chest ache to hear the hobbit laugh again.

“I know it probably won’t matter much, but I’m going to apologize all the same. I’m sorry.” Bilbo turned to face him, shoulders squared and gaze determined. Fear was pouring off him, and it made Thorin’s heart race. His palms were even sweaty.

“The Arkenstone was returned to Fili while I lay wounded. Your wrong was righted, Burglar.”

“It needed to be said just the same. I did something I should never have done, and broke the trust between us.”

“Then let the air between us be clear. I would call you friend again.”

Bilbo’s smile was instant and consuming. Everything about him brightened. His eyes seemed greener, his curls more vibrant, his expression far happier, and his glow more concentrated. His emotions shot towards Thorin with intensity he hadn’t previously felt, but there was no time to decipher them as Bilbo’s hand landed, only for an instant, on his arm.

A pain, entirely unfamiliar to him, sprouted in his chest at the brief touch. It burned around his heart, numbing all other emotions so he could only focus on the way his heart seemed to tighten with each beat. The world around him seemed to grow still and it felt as though each breath made his heart pound like a hammer stroke.

He couldn’t see anything outside of the light in Bilbo’s eyes or the brightness of his smile. His skin felt too tight for his body, and his nerves seemed to be flooded with fire.

Years of training saw that his expression dropped into a blank stare as he took a deep breath and focused on pushing past the burning and overwhelming sense of feelings. So strong he couldn’t even be sure of what they were. He swayed slightly, uncertain why until he registered the feeling of Bilbo’s hand back on his arm.

“Thorin?”

He exhaled

slowly, and forced himself to inhale equally as slow. The slap of Dwalin’s boots behind him echoed around the cavern. He was wearing far too many layers for it to be real, but he half fancied he could feel the heat of Bilbo’s hand seeping into his own skin. It made his heart pound all the harder.

“My apologies.” He exhaled again, feeling Dwalin come to stand at his side. “You were saying?”

“Err.. Yes? I’d like to be friends? Are you certain you’re alright? You’re pale.” Thorin had to fight his instinct to glare. The consuming ache of the fire had all but faded. The only remaining part of it was in his chest, next to his heart.

He could not glare at Bilbo just because he asked a personal query. The hobbit wasn’t aware of the taboo. Thorin was a king, he could hardly admit to weakness, and was never to be asked about it.

He was also not to be touched. No one touched dwarrows on general-they were regarded with suspicion and fear more than any of the other three races - and dwarrows were rare in public affection. He had only been touched by Balin, Dwalin, and his nephews in the last few years. And that was only ever a brush or head bump of greeting. He was on a separate station from them. He had to remain removed.

Bilbo broke both taboos without blinking and had no idea he’d done anything out of the ordinary.

Worry from Dwalin slammed into him with more force than the emotion warranted, and he found his breath wavering again.

“Bilbo? Fetch Óin. I’m going to take his highness back to his chamber.”

There was no need. Thorin knew what had just happened, and he knew that it had spelled his doom.


	5. Chapter 5

Dwalin deposited Thorin on his bed despite his protest that there was nothing wrong. He summoned Balin and Óin as well before assuming a guarding position beside the bed that mainly consisted of his glaring at Thorin.

He considered getting up and storming out. Dwalin would fight him, but that was better than a glare.

He took up a book and made a show of reading it while he retreated into his mind. He’d read it multiple times, so there was no problem with just turning the page every few minutes to keep up the appearance.

His chest was still burning, a deep ache that he could feel through his entire body. It was no longer so painful as it had been. He could breath around it at least.

Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins. It was impossible to even think of.

He was doomed. The wretched lady with her constant glow and evil intentions, had truly cursed him. Not only was he feeling and seeing emotions (and Dwalin’s constant stream of worry was setting his teeth on edge) but he had found his One.

Curse it all! It could not be! He couldn’t find his One in Bilbo. Anyone else-anyone! The hobbit could barely find it in himself to speak to Thorin. He had never been comfortable, and he wasn’t even guaranteed to stay in Erebor. Thorin could not follow him to the Shire. Even if his heart was yearning to do just that.

He turned the page and stared at the words until they swam together.

Bilbo who would house thirteen dwarrows to be polite. Who would bear verbal abuse for what he considered to be right. Who had an adventurous streak that couldn’t be denied. Who had aided him time and time again because he considered Thorin to be worth the risk.

His heart pounded with each breath. He felt shivery and hot in the manner of a fever. Almost as if he was shaking despite how still he was. The book was heavy in his hands, hardly real feeling. He could still hear the worry in Bilbo’s voice as his hand had brushed over his arm. Steadying him even while he feared.

He could not afford this weakness. He could not afford any more after what had happened. He had nearly spent the life of all his dwarrows and family in his haste. He had desired something, and it had cost far too much.

He would not hurt Bilbo in this manner. He would not risk him.

He would not be controlled. He was a king of Erebor. A son of the line of Durin. He would not be manipulated or tricked into anything. He had let madness dictate his actions, but never again.

This beautifully demonstrated why he was against emotions. They did not allow one to have a clear head. Without a clear head he could not lead. If he followed his emotions he would forsake everything. He would abandon his people when the needed him most. He simply couldn’t pursue anything. Not now. Not while Erebor still laid in ruins. Someday, perhaps. But not for many long years.

No. Emotions could be controlled. His father had taught him that before he’d succumbed to his own madness. He would refuse to feel the burning in his heart.

Whoever the lady was, she had picked the wrong dwarf.

Fury rushed through him as he thought. He could feel it boiling  through his veins, encouraging him to ignore what he was told to do. It was fierce, hotter than it should have been and unmanageable already. He stood up in annoyance with it, right as the door opened. Balin rushed in, Óin hot on his heels.

“What is it?” Balin demanded, his breath coming out in short puffs as Óin pushed past him.

“He got tipsy in the hall.”

Worry was surrounding him. It was thick in the air and tore at his stomach, making it hard to breathe past the lump in his throat. Adrenaline rushed through his blood, drawing a ragged gasp from him. He very nearly trembled for a moment. he wasn’t certain if it was shock that his dwarrows felt so deeply for him, or irritation that no one had listened to him.

“I did not. Dwalin and Bilbo have worried you over nothing.”

“Nothing, hmm?” Óin asked with a curious glint in his eyes. He ran his gaze over Thorin’s form, taking stock of his clenched fists before he could relax himself. “I think I’ll be the judge of that. Everyone that is not Thorin, out. I’ll let you know what’s what in a moments time.”

Thorin stood still while Dwalin and Balin exited. He focused on breathing and trying to ignore the worry that still thrummed under his skin. “Now,” said the healer once the door clicked shut, “what actually happened? Bilbo said that you swayed when he touched you, and that you grew pale before jerking when he reached to steady you.”

“He exaggerated.” There was no longer worry pouring off Óin. It was something else, something he couldn’t quite define. He was spending far too much time trying to figure out what they were.

“Really?” Óin stepped closer and peered at his eyes before placing a hand on Thorin’s throat. he had to force himself not to tense. He had spent a lifetime being trained not to present any weakness. Letting someone touch his neck always made him fear of strangulation of some equally horrible death. The doctor dropped his hand a moment later, apparently satisfied with Thorin’s pulse. “Because your pulse is racing, you are warm, but you are still pale. If I was to ask, I would probably find that your chest aches and you feel like your heart was burning.”

Thorin very carefully kept his gaze steady and his back straight. He betrayed nothing of his thoughts despite the flash of anger and annoyance he felt. He had let his anger rule too much of his actions.

Óin remained silent for a moment longer before sighing and giving his head a shake. He sat heavily down on the bed and rested his hands on his knees. He looked immensely old and Thorin found himself worrying at the age of him. “Thorin,” The dwarf sighed in a long-suffering that made Thorin think of Balin, “I am old.”

“Arguably.”

“No. I am old and I am tired. I do not have the patience I once had.” There was a surprising amount of conviction in the dwarf’s voice.

“You have never been patient, old friend.” Óin glared though there was little heat in it.

“Do not try and change the subject. I know the burning when I see it. I won’t ask who it was, though I know who it wasn’t. My question is quite simple. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. It has not happened.”

“Thorin, there is nothing to be quiet about. The burning is a gift from Mahal. Durin himself felt it for his bride.” He paused with a furrowed brow. “Whoever that was.”

“I am a king of a nearly ruined kingdom. I cannot afford such a weakness.” Óin stood up, a fire in his eyes that made Thorin pause and momentarily consider stepping back. It was an instinct from his childhood. That look from Óin had always meant he was about to be lectured or sent for a painful training exercise he was not prepared for.

“Have you forgotten Freris already?” Anger sparked over his skin quickly, melting away all the other emotions that had been dancing around and through him. His mother had been a mighty queen before Smaug came. She had no bearing on this discussion.

“Do not dare to lecture me on my mother.”

“No,” Óin held his hand up, silencing Thorin. “I will remind you of what Gandalf said. Your pride will be your downfall. The Arkenstone already used it to nearly destroy you. Do not let it rob you of so great a joy.”

“You,” Thorin said, trying to reel in his anger and shame, “were not there when Gandalf spoke those words. It was only Balin, Bilbo, and myself.”

“Please. Nori saw and heard the entire thing. He told us about it before we left the elf city.” He paused, studying Thorin once more. There was a deep sadness radiating from his blue glow. One that throbbed with memory and fear. It was humbling to know that it was meant of him, but horrible to be able to do nothing for it. Worse still to feel it and know it was his fault.

“Bilbo.”

He was almost certain he did not speak the name, but it still echoed in the air, utterly damning and now unavoidable. Óin’s eyes widened and he sat up straighter. “Our hobbit?”

Thorin couldn’t say anything. He just stood still, feeling too much and cursing all he could think of for his ill luck. He was even jealous that Óin had just declared Bilbo theirs and he simply could not allow that.

Óin let out a loud breath and gave his head a little shake. “Well… That might be difficult.”

“If I intended to pursue anything. I will do no such thing. I have caused Bilbo Baggins quite enough harm already.”

“That’s it then?”

“If you would leave me now, I have an early meeting tomorrow.” Óin stared at him for a moment longer before standing.

“Of course, sire. If anyone asks I’ll simply say it was the result of too much exertion on on youryour still healing lungs. The rest is patient/healer privileges.” He strode towards the door without another word. He settled his hand on the door knob and held still for a long moment before tugging it open and slipping away.

“You are being far more stubborn than I had hoped.”

Thorin had a dagger pulled out of his tunic and pointed towards the glowing witch before he even fully registered the words. She raised a thin, golden, eyebrow and smiled.

“Am I too be impressed by your reflexes?” She waved her hand and a vine curled around Thorin’s hand, forcing it down. The knife was dropped to the ground. Another vine grabbed his other arm and pulled it down as well. His legs were trapped in a similar manner and he was utterly stuck by plants. He could imagine Thranduil curled up on the floor from laughing too hard at the mere thought.

The lady knelt and scooped the blade up. She turned it over in her hand with a critical gaze as she straightened. “Dwarrow make,” she glanced at him, amusement in her eyes, “I would expect no less.” She glided closer to him, lovely and vibrant in the dim light of his bedroom.

“Why have you done this?” He growled, nearly trembling with anger that was too hot and fierce. It bubbled in his chest, painful and sharp.

“The emotions? I thought I had explained myself rather well. You have irritated me, Thorin Oakenshield. You panicked on your deathbed that you would not have the time tell those you love of what you thought, but you did not tell any of them anything. You called for Bilbo first so that you could mend your grievous wound but spoke not of how he made your heart full.” She was right in front of him, close enough to touch if he had not been bound. She tilted at the waist so her face was closer to his, and it made her thick curls slide over her shoulders. “You did not tell your nephews that they had given you reason to continue when you could not find any other. You did not even tell Óin that you loved him for his service.”

Why did she know such things? Was she a telepath live Ivonwin had said? Was she a seer? “It was mine to say or not. I will not be controlled by-”

“By what?” She straightened her green eyes flashing with light like the sky on a clear day when lightning shone unexpectedly. “By a woman? Be careful how you speak.”

His mother had been Freris, and his sister was Dis. He would be a fool to think a female of less value than a male. Dwarrows did not make such distinction. That was reserved for the foolish race of men.  “By anyone.”

She stepped back and stood straight, her face grave and fierce. Beautiful and utterly terrible. “Thorin, King under this Mountain, you have less control than you can imagine. You cannot truly live until you are no longer afraid.”

“Then why give me a burning? Why make Bilbo my One?” He couldn’t help but growl the words. The anger made his chest tight and he wanted to tear at the vines that bound them. To rip them apart and release some of the fury in that action.

She raised her eyebrow again and cocked her head to the side. “The burning? Surely you know that none but Aulë may initiate such a thing. The quickening of your heart was not my doing. It was simply the result of your heart recognizing its match.”

Aulë. Her use of the Vala’s proper name spoke more about her origins than anything previously. She, regardless of how well she knew dwarrows, was from something else entirely.

Aulë would only ever be calle Mahal by his children.

She dropped his knife onto the table and then, with a blinding flash of light, she was gone. The vines disappeared with her, and he found himself once again able to move.

He stood still for a moment longer, simply staring at the knife on the table.

He hadn’t felt a single one of her emotions.

-[]-[]-[]-

In the morning, once he gave up sleep as a lost cause full of nightmares, he was determined. The woman sought to control his emotions. To make him give into them and follow their lead. He had never been stone-hearted, despite how cautious he was. Merely being careful of what one spoke was not the same as not feeling.

Because he did not speak of love or affection at every moment did not mean he could not feel it burning through him. He had allowed himself to even touch. A hand on a shoulder, a head bump, even an embrace.

Yet the woman had condemned him as not enough. He would not speak in dying that which he had not uttered in life. He was not cruel. He would have like to have told Fíli and Kíli that they were well loved before he had died, but he would not now.

He would not let the lady control him like this. She had thought him unfeeling? She would see just how cut off he could be.

He would become as unmoving as stone.

He managed to avoid Bilbo and Óin with little trouble in the morning. Dwalin refused to leave his side, constantly worrying though he didn’t show it in any physical way.

And he felt _guilty_ for that. He had no right to know what Dwalin was feeling. No right to be aware of the way the worry almost instantly evaporated the minute Ori appeared.

The adoration that literally poured off Dwalin would have shocked Thorin if he hadn’t already suspected such a thing on their journey. Dwalin had been at Ori’s side too often for it to be mere chance.

What intrigued him most was the way the glowing light around their legs instantly surged towards each other. He watched it out of the corner of his eyes as Ori went up to Dwalin with a roll of paper.

“Good afternoon, Mister Dwalin.” He murmured with a shy smile that he always seemed to be wearing. “Sire,” he dipped his head in respect which Thorin acknowledge with a nod. Ori passed the paper he held to Dwalin and dropped his gaze, blushing a bit. Dwalin stared at him for a moment longer before unrolling the scroll and gazing at the runes written on it.

Thorin had a fairly good guess about why their lights matched. He was fairly certain it was the same reason that Nori and Bofur matched.

“Anything important?”

“The latest guard rotation. I asked the lad to write it up for Bard.”

Which made perfect sense for why Dwalin would need to see it. And why the official court scribe would have to rewrite a list Dwalin had already written out.  Really. They were not subtle in the least.

He opened his mouth to make a teasing comment- they were sending happy, soothing emotions his way and it was impossible not to comment on the way Dwalin was smiling - when the door to his council room opened. Bilbo rushed inside, his eyes wide and his glow pulsing. Thorin’s stomach dropped while his chest tightened and his heart gave a hopeful thump.

“Yes?” He cursed himself for sounding to worried and stood stiffer. Bilbo didn’t stop running until he was in front of Thorin. His hair was mussed from running and his cheeks were an entirely-too-fetching pink.

“There’s been a collapse!” Bilbo squeaked, grabbing Thorin’s hand and tugging him towards the door. Thorin went without thought, his heart pounding in shock. Dwalin and Ori moved to join him and he picked up the pace while Bilbo continued. “The south tunnels. I-there was a horrible noise and then screams and Bain was down there!”

The south tunnels had been cleared that very morning. They were sound. They shouldn’t have collapsed unless there was an earth-quake and the entire mountain would have felt such a thing.

“Ori! Get the diggers!” He barked the order over his shoulder before running down another path. He could already hear a commotion ahead by the entrance to the tunnels. They pushed through the bodies of men and dwarrows until he could see just what had happened. The pillars that held the lentil up had fallen over, bringing a good portion of the roof with it.

Worry, fear, despair, anger, it all hit him in shocking loads as he went to the fallen entrance. Voices were shouting and the sound of weapons being drawn made everything else seem distant. He couldn’t hope to think past the chaos whirling around him, pushing him to near hysteria as he examined the rubble and tried to make sense of it. No one had tried to move it yet, which spoke of Dwarrows of higher birth. Dwarrows that had not been driven from Erebor and forced to learn ‘common’ skill. The men wouldn’t have known what to do.

“Atkât! (Silence!)” He bellowed in a voice that carried clear over everyone. It was a commanding tone he only used in battle, one that had Bilbo jumping at his side. His hand tightened around the hobbit’s on reflex and then he dropped the hand he had not realized he still held and stepped forward to look as though he hadn’t just dropped Bilbo’s hand like he was a crushing dwarrowling. He avoided Bilbo’s eye and stared straight ahead. The crowd around him silenced mostly in shock that he could be so loud. “Dwalin, serejînizd.  (Empty this place)” He stepped towards the rubble, unfastening his cloak as he walked. He dropped it to the floor without care and discarded his weskit in a similar manner while Dwalin barked orders out behind him.

The crowd followed the orders and the rage of emotions quieted enough that Thorin could inhale. His hand trembled on the belt that held his scabbard, but he forced it to still and unfasten the clasp. It would get caught, and there was no time for that.

“Thorin?” Bilbo’s voice was quiet, a mere whisper of breath in the ruined hall. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Hobbit staring at him with large eyes. Bilbo worked his mouth but nothing else came out of it so Thorin turned back to the fallen stone in front of him.

There were safety procedures to be considered. Rope was necessary to tie around his waist less he join the boy in being stuck. There simply wasn’t time. As the king, he should probably not do this. He could send Dwalin, but his guard had not spent as much time tending actual stone. He had always been a fighter.

He considered the rubble for a moment longer before pulling gently at a stone. It gave way and nothing else moved. He pulled it harder and moved it aside. He waited only a breath to make certain nothing else moved, and then ducked under the hole it left. The darkness of the hall embraced him and he blinked it away until his eyes adjusted and he could see the fallen stones surrounding him.

There was a faint light that shone under part of the pillar. A light the color of caramel that peeked around the stone several feet in front of him.

Someone was still alive.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a tedious business, moving the rocks out of the way so he could reach the light. The emotions of the others had dimmed once he’d crawled into the pile of rubble, and now he just felt his own emotions, and a faint thrum of hope and fear.

Bain. It had to be Bard’s son. He knew the light, that faint caramel glow, was the same as Bain’s at the very least.  There were only a few pieces between him and the boy. He could reach him.

“Bain?” he called in a deep voice, one that was calm and commanding. It was the same tone he would use to call Kíli out of his nightmares as a lad. There was a faint moan and a flair of hope that hit Thorin with the force of a hammer.

He took a moment to turn his head towards the glow of light that was the hole he’d crawled through. “He’s alive!” He yelled as loudly as he could. Someone shouted ‘how do you know’ which he ignored. He couldn’t very well belt back that he could feel the boy.

He dropped to the ground and crawled the final feet, going around the rocks as needed. “Remain still. I am almost to you. Ori is bringing your father as well.” He had always found it reassuring to hear the voice of others in a cave-in. Knowing that it was not only you in the darkness, that someone was trying to free you, it was necessary to keep the panic at bay.

Thorin desperately needed Bain not to panic. He would feel the emotion and it would make it so much harder to concentrate. “Can you respond?” He reached the pillar that Bain was pinned under and found himself fiercely grateful for the stupid auras. He could see Bain’s legs because of it, and where to move the stone. Dwarrows were gifted with excellent night vision but it only when so far.

“Thorin?” The word broke part way through, and sounded too wet to assure Thorin that everything was alright. Still, the fact that he could speak at all was a good sign.

“Excellent. I’m going to lift the stone and then you can roll towards my voice. Can you do that?”

A pause and: “Yes.” He got his hands under the stone, cursing the lack of maneuvering room, and heaved for all he was worth. A moment passed and then the stone gave way as the hall rumbled. Bain rolled towards him and Thorin let the stone drop again as a terrible crash sounded further down the broken tunnel. He dropped his body over Bain’s, protecting it as well as he could while his heart thundered in his chest. He could feel the boy curling up against him, trembling fingers catching at his tunic and clutching.

The rumble seemed to go on forever, and the crash of stone was nearly deafening in the small alcove, but nothing more fell in their area. He could faintly hear shouts of alarm from the other side of the fallen stone wall, and pushed himself up.

Bain came with him before moaning and slumping back down. Thorin scooped him up as well as he could and had to more or less drag him back over and under the rock.

“Clear the way!” He reached the hole he had made and pushed Bain through feet first. Hands appeared on the other side to help, and he was hit with more emotions that combined in a flurry of excitement and anxiety. Bain was out and he made to follow.

The went out feet first and, as he was sliding out, he was hit with a wave of malice that made his breath gasp out and his hands tremble. He slipped to the outside, crouching to the ground while he regained his breath and tried to understand the immense hate that seemed to be pouring from the hole. It made his very blood cold to simply feel it.

Outside the rubble was chaos. Men were shouting at dwarrows who were shouting right back, and Bard was running towards him. Bilbo had Bain in his lap, who was unconscious and covered in dust and blood.

He took in another shaky breath and watched as Bard reached his son.

“He’s alive.” Bilbo rushed, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide with relief. Thorin managed an inhale as Bard pulled Bain into his own lap. The malice was still pouring from the hole. Something powerful, and angry, was back there. He blinked and swallowed, stealing his gut against the worry.

He needed to call the others, they had to brace themselves against who knew what.

They hadn’t cleared out the tunnel that connected to this one. There couldn’t be anyone from Dale, the Iron Hills, or the Company back there.

A small, warm hand closed around his arm and lifted him up while another hand settled on the crook of his elbow. He followed the hands insistence, coughing suddenly on dust he hadn’t noticed. He was positively covered in it. The hand on his elbow moved to rub at his back in soothing circles, encouraging him to breath normally. His arm was released as well, and a moment later a waterskin was pressed into his hand. He drank from it greedily, gradually becoming more aware of his surroundings.

The anger and hate that came from the hole flowed over him, freezing his skin and making his hair want to stand on end. It didn’t make him angered or hateful, but made him feel as  if he was on the receiving end of such things. As though the evil was focused on him.

Bilbo kept rubbing his back, worry obvious in his blue eyes. “Easy,” he murmured in the same manner he would speak to his pony when she was frightened. It was a bit insulting but Thorin was willing to ignore it.

His skin seemed to tingle now that he realized it was Bilbo touching him. The hobbit’s hands the only spot of warmth on his chilled body. Dwalin pressed in on his other side, his eyes scanning Thorin.

“You should not have gone in.” He growled with a glare that was belayed by the worry he felt.

“That was not my first cave-in.”

“Nor mine.” Dwalin replied without missing a beat. Thorin met his eyes, hating the sadness he could feel invading him. They had both seen too many deaths in mines.

“I have had more experience. I was the logical choice, status aside. We could not be certain there was time for anything else.” He glanced around, noticing that most of the crowd from before was still here. “Get rid of these people. We have to rope this area off from everyone but our workers. The men will not know how to handle such things.”

Dwalin frowned, looking as though he wanted to argue, before nodding his head. He turned on his heel and signed to a dwarf a few feet away. The dwarf nodded his head and set to clearing the people away. Dwalin made to join him but Thorin stopped him with a hand. “Dwalin, mahmalmur. Maksat kalur oyid. (make haste. There was something else back there.)”

Dwalin’s eyes narrowed, his face dropping into a neutral expression as he remembered. They knew it was not just the orcs that had driven their kin from Khazad-dum. There were more ancient and foul things than orcs or goblins to fear in the heart of mountains. Dwalin gave his head another nod and left.

Thorin took a gulp of water to avoid looking at Bilbo. He felt hot and shaky and needed to sit down while he got control of his thoughts and the confounded emotions.

Bard stood up abruptly, Bain held close to his body. He shared a long look with Thorin before dipping his head and retreating down the hall to find his healer.

Thorin took one more drink before passing the waterskin back to Bilbo with a thank you. He had to find Balin, Oin, Dori, and Ori. A council needed to be held.

He had a lot to inform his dwarrows of.

-[]-[]-[]-

“It will sound as if from madness, I know.” Thorin said baldly. He set his mug aside, uninterested in the tea that he had been given. Surrounding him were the dwarrows whose council he held in highest regard. The entirety of his Company, even Bilbo sat in front of him.

It was startling to feel so much confusion coming from the dwarrows. Kíli looked scared, which was not what he had wanted. Fíli had a blank expression on that he could not read (which made him oddly proud.) Óin looked as though he had discovered the answer to several questions. Balin was frowning in thought and Dwalin was studying him patiently.

Bilbo had the same confused expression he had worn when Thorin had first walked into his hobbit hole. As if he couldn’t quite understand what was going on.

“I have not been entirely honest with my healing.”

“It was Gandalf?” Balin asked, sitting taller. There were papers strewn all over the tables top. It was their council room, or the closest thing they’d been able to make to a council room. It was warmed with a fire and had enough room for a table and chairs which had been the main requirement.

The fire did little to warm him right now.

“No. After you left my side to fetch Óin I was visited by someone-or thing. She was tall as the lady Galadriel, with blonde curls and green eyes. She was elven in appearance, but her skin glew with starlight.”

“One of Thranduil’s?” Óin asked delicately. Thorin shook his head.

“No. She appeared out of nothing and healed me enough to answer her questions.” He hesitated for a moment over how to handle the next bit. “She was angered at me for reasons unknown. She spoke what I believe to have been a curse over me and then I passed out from pain. When I woke you told me I had healed.”

“Do you mind my writing down what she said?” Ori had a quill and ink already out, ready to write down anything he might say at his leave.

He inclined his head. “Hear me now, stone-tender. You will walk this earth, doomed to see and absorb what others feel until you embrace it. Until then you will lack the control you must cling to.”

He altered the curse a little, drawing on long years of practice to keep from allowing his discomfort to show. It was more or less obvious why the lady had cursed him. He would have to trust on the discretion of his dwarrows and hobbit.

Ori scribbled away, poking the tip of his tongue out of his mouth as he did so. Dwalin’s eyes drifted to the scribes lips, which would have made Thorin smile if everyone hadn’t been looking at him.

“Since I awoke in the tent, I have found strange occurrences. I can see a glow around the legs of others. I have also felt, vaguely, emotions from others. The stronger they feel the more clearly I can. An elf discovered the… condition, after I observed the glow. She informed me that Elves are often born empathic. The glow and hint of emotions is apparently a common condition of such things.”

“Ivonwin?” Bilbo asked and sat back up. He brushed a curl from his face as Thorin’s eyes settled on him. Irritation flared in his belly at the fact that Bilbo would know her name. He was too friendly. He half believed there wasn’t a single dwarf or man in Erebor he did not know.

“Yes.” Bilbo nodded his head, not seeming surprised by the confirmation. There was a story there, one Thorin would like to hear at some time.

“After she spoke with me I was visited again by the woman. She told me I could seek assistance, but it would not aid my cure. She refused to answer any question on who she was. She visited me last night as well.” Óin leaned minutely closer at that information, his eyes lighting with interest. Of course, the impertinent healer would put the pieces together. “She can control plants.”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed and he mouthed the word ‘plant?’ Balin started to ruffle through the papers while Nori crossed his arms.

“We need Gandalf.” Fíli muttered. Kíli nodded in agreement.

“What about the tunnel?” Dwalin’s deep baritone washed over Thorin, focusing him on the task at hand. He could feel the others emotions changing, fear becoming more prevalent. It was getting under his skin, making his own heart pound and the feelings of relief that were his own fade. Now his own emotions were being pushed aside for the emotions of others.

How could the lady expect him to come to term with his own emotions when they were so easily controlled by everything else?

"While I was exiting with Bain I felt a wave of malice such as I have never felt. It was more powerful an emotion than any other creature has managed to radiate. That makes me question the power of whatever it was. Bain was the only one in that tunnel. I would have seen their glow if another had been in the tunnel."

"So we have you cursed by an unknown creature, and something dark hiding in the collapsed tunnels?" Nori's tone was matter-of-fact and his eyes intent.

"No," Bilbo gasped, his eyes widening and his hand trembling on the table, "the noise I-you think whatever you felt caused the collapse?"

"It seems possible."

“We must tread carefully. News of this, whatever it is, has to be kept quiet. Erebor cannot know of either thing. Bard is already suspicious, and Dain would love the chance to claim the Throne of Erebor. If he believes you mad, he will try.” Balin spoke quickly, a fire lighting his eyes as he spoke. “We cannot afford the panic either. Dwalin, make certain only dwarrows we trust are posted as guards, and that they do not ask questions. Ori?” The scribe looked up with wide eyes. “Send out the fastest ravens for Gandalf. Make certain no dwarf or man can read it.”

“Quenya.” Ori said at the same time as Bilbo. They shared a look and a head nod.

“In the mean time there are three days before the coronation. I should like at least one of our questions answered by then. Nori, you may have any assistance you require in your search.”

He stood up, dismissing the council before they could say anything else. “Bilbo, with me if you please.”

He could feel Oin’s eyes on him and did his level best to ignore it and Balin’s curious gaze. Bilbo hurried to join him and the burning ache around his heart seemed even worse.

Why had no one mentioned the pain? It wasn’t severe, certainly not debilitating, but the only thing ever mentioned was the joy of finding the One. The burn was never described as aching.

He could feel Bilbo next to him. He had never in his life been aware of someone so much. He wanted to look, to touch and learn what the hobbit felt like under his hands. He wanted to hear him laugh and feel his smile against his lips. He had never felt such a way about anyone. He had enjoyed the company of others but he’d never felt such a longing. He could feel it everywhere, it seemed to be buried in his very bones.

But he couldn’t feel Bilbo. The hobbit’s emotions were gone, hidden from him. The only creature he might enjoy feeling and he was closed off from him. It was clearly the glowing witch’s doing. She clearly enjoyed toying with him.

“Ivonwin?” He turned down the corner, noting that Dwalin fell into step behind them easily.

To his surprise, Bilbo blushed. The pink coloring spread along his cheeks and neck, a fetching shade that made Thorin’s heart thump.

“Erm, she, uh, found me. I… well, I was upset about your impending death and she consoled me. She told me that she could sense my hea-sorrow.” He ducked his head, covering his flushed cheeks with golden curls. He burned with curiosity to know what the hobbit might have said. He could feel amusement from Dwalin and shot a glare over his shoulder. Dwalin raised a single eyebrow and gave his head a small shake.

“Had you ever met another empath?”

“No, only a telepath.” Bilbo was stiff as they walked. He was obviously uncomfortable, enough that Thorin felt discomfort simply watching him. He wanted to bring the hobbit comfort but didn’t know how.

“Thank you for your confidence. Do you mind answering a few questions about the cave-in? You mentioned a noise earlier.”

“Bain and I were meeting for lunch. We've done so every other day since we inhabited Erebor. Occasionally someone else will join us. His sisters, Ori, Bofur, Fíli... Anyway He asked to meet in the south tunnels because he was going to be working in them tomorrow."

"Was that unusual?"

"No. He," Bilbo paused, biting his lip while he considered what to say. Thorin had never noticed his lips before. He had made a point not to look at them since he awoke, and now he wanted to curse himself for looking. "He's claustrophobic." Bilbo caught his gaze, his cheeks still pink but his eyes determined. "His father doesn't know and he would prefer it to stay that way."

Mountains were not the best location for those who disliked small spaces. He would make a note of that and see that Bain was set on clearing the upper levels. They were open and expansive. Had he known that there was an issue there he would never have put Bain down there. "There was a strange noise. Like a rumble that came from the darkness and then a horrible crashing noise. The rocks fell and he was buried before I could reach him."

“You did nothing wrong, I assure you.” Bilbo stopped walking and fisted his hands at his side.

“I could have been faster.”

“Cave-ins do not require speed. They require caution. You have not been in a cave-in before. You did the right thing by seeking aid.” He smiled to acknowledge the words but it was nowhere near to reaching his eyes and faded after a moment.

“Thank you. And thank you for inviting me to the council.” He dropped his gaze again, and Thorin burned with desire to know what he felt, what he was thinking. The hobbit was always such a mystery to him. Bofur, Ori, and Balin seemed to understand him with little trouble, but Thorin always found himself making the wrong assumptions.

Finally Bilbo lifted his head, determination shining in his gaze. “I’ll do all that I can to aid you.” He glanced behind them at Dwalin who was actually trying to look like he wasn’t listening, and smiled fondly. “I’m fairly certain I didn’t just return you to your home.” He met Thorin’s eyes again, something soft and fragile in his blue eyes. “I found one for myself as well.”


	7. Chapter 7

Thorin knelt in front of his fire and exhaled slowly. He ran his hand along the fur that had been placed there and reclined back as he exhaled again. He was jittery, his nerves frazzled and worn. He was weary in every inch of his body. Weary in a way he had seldom ever been. He wanted most to cry, which was not an urge he'd had since he saw his grandfather's head hanging from the hands of the defiler.

He had not allowed himself a cry since Erebor was lost. He had wept privately for his mother, and then found himself incapable of anything else. After the loss of Erebor he had reached the point where there were no tears. Some hurts went far too deep for something so simple as tears to relieve the ache of it. No. Tears only made such hurts worse.

He clenched the fire warmed fur in his hands and grit his jaw as he felt his eyes well up with tears against his will. He felt utterly powerless. Powerless to do anything. He could not ignore the emotions that swirled around him constantly despite how hard he tried. He could not fight his own heart, let alone the heart of everyone else. He was distracted at all times by the thrum he felt, and wary about each negative emotion.

He had nearly flipped a table over during a council in anger because three others had been furious. He had wanted to rage because of another. He had a fierce temper. One that constantly ran hot as dragon fire-it had been honed by dragon fire after all. He could barely control it, how could he be expected to control the anger of others?

And he loved. He loved with a fierce ache that could consume if he let it. He could not resist watching Bilbo, talking to the hobbit when the opportunity arose. Whenever it arose, he found himself more helpless to resist the Burglar. And wasn't that a laugh? Bilbo had stolen his heart and wit. A Burglar in deed.

Yet he couldn’t feel Bilbo’s emotions. He wasn’t sure when that had changed, but he no longer felt the change of the hobbit’s emotions. He couldn’t know if the hobbit was as affected by close proximity as he was.

But he was going to stay. Bilbo would stay.

He shifted back and felt the fur shift under his hands. He glanced at it with blurry eyes before looking in the fire.

His dwarrows now knew the truth. He could see their unease around him, uncertainty if he was mad or knew things no other should. As if he actually wanted this curse.

He needed a drink. Something strong and harsh that would hopefully remove any memory of the evening and morning.

“This is lovely.” The musical voice was not as surprising as it probably should have been. He didn’t even bother to turn his head. He could feel the warmth of her body sitting beside him. “Though I must say that I am surprised you told them all.”

“I would not risk the safety of my people on pride.” He growled the words and sat up right. The lady was sitting with her legs folded at her side, and wearing a green dress woven with flowers. Her curls were braided as usual, with a few new beads decorating them.

“Indeed? You once did.”

“I was mad.” He had not pretended otherwise. He had not been in true control of himself. He had been told what to do by a dark voice in his mind, one that was too loud to ignore. He hadn’t been able to think past it or even realize the hurt he did while it led him.

“And you still worry that you might be?”

“What is it you want from me? Is this to be a nightly ritual?” She had not visited him last night he had hoped that she would cease her taunting.  

“No. I simply thought I would confirm that you will not feel Bilbo’s emotions any longer. I will not allow you an insight into his thoughts when he has no such advantage with you.”

“I will not-”

“You have said that at every step.” She stood up with the grace of a dancer. “Be careful of the lower halls. There is an evil there that will not sleep.” Thorin watched her with a frown and tug of worry.

“You know what it is?”

She _smiled_ down at him, of all things. “You do as well, Aulë’s son. ‘ _The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, / While hammers fell like ringing bells / In places deep, where dark things sleep, / In hollow halls beneath the fells_.” She peered at him, studying him in the firelight, and he was surprisingly unafraid. “You are right to be cautious, Oakenshield. Your worry for your people does you credit. If you can only learn to fully embrace yourself, you will be the finest king to ever rule under this mountain.”

And then she was simply gone.

-[]-[]-[]-

He conveyed the lady’s message to Balin who immediately set Ori on learning all he could about the songs origin. The remainder of the day was spent on details of the quickly approaching coronation, and a sense of unease that followed him wherever he went.

He would be crowned tomorrow. He would be the King in title and Blood. Erebor would have her king once more.

He would be responsible for her fate.

The upper halls were nearly cleared and they would be by the end of the first month of the new year. The King’s Hall would once again be free. He could see his old room again. His family possessions, their heirlooms.

He would offer the beads of his family to the Company. It would be the highest physical honor and respect he could bestow upon them. Jewelry from the line of Durin. He would braid it into each of their hair himself, if they allowed him to do so.

“Thorin!” Balin’s voice echoed around the hall, bringing his attention from his thoughts and the mindless work of moving rock. The dwarf was hurrying to him, giddy and nearly clumsy with joy. Bilbo, Fíli, and Kíli trailed dutifully behind him, all three doing rather a poor job of hiding a smile. “Thorin! We found it!”

“Bilbo found it!” Kíli cut in, nearly bouncing.

“Only because Balin knew where to look.”

“And you’re not scared of small spaces.”

“I lived in a hole in the ground. Your hole is simply made of stone instead of dirt.” He paused, a smile playing at his lips. “And is a fair bit larger.”

“Point is, it’s been found.”

“What has?” He couldn’t help the amusement he felt, or the fact that he really wanted nothing more than to smile at the joy of his dwarrows and hobbit. He enjoyed feeling it, even if he longed to feel Bilbo’s joy.

He simply couldn’t express his own. He couldn’t explain why, he just couldn’t. It felt too much like a weakness, like losing control.

Balin flung his cloak back and lifted his hands up in excitement to reveal an object Thorin had not seen since he was a lad.

It was the crown of Erebor. One his grandfather had worn before the madness. Less heavy and large than the one that had been claimed in the battle. One he could remember with fondness.

“How came you buy this?” He could not stop the waver in his voice or the way his hand trembled as he reached out to touch the gold of the band. “The halls are not yet open.”

“Send the lightest first.” Bilbo said with a smile that spoke of memories. He dipped his head a slight bit, shy. It made something hot curl through Thorin’s stomach. Something that had him drawing his hand back and standing taller. “There was room enough to get me through. We can’t have a coronation without a crown.”

“Thank you.” It wasn’t enough, not nearly, but there was nothing else he could say. There were certainly no words that could convey the gratitude in his heart.

Kíli lunged forward and wrapped Thorin in a close embrace, with the slightest tremble. His leg held him steady, though Thorin was certain it would never truly heal. Morgul wounds never did. He wrapped his own arms around his nephew without hesitation of thought and dipped his head so that it was pressed over the dark waves of Kíli’s hair. He could smell a hint of blackberries, Kíli’s favorite treat. That made him hug his nephew all the more tightly.

“Thank you, khuzdith.(young one)” It was an affectionate name he had not used on his nephew since he was of age. One that was full of memory of younger days. They were not his sons, and he would never try and replace their father, but they were his.

He was glad they had come on the quest. He had not wished them too, they were too young, too untried, but he’d had great need of them.

Kíli slipped away, brushing at his eyes and Fíli took his place, squeezing Thorin with strong arms. His golden hair smelled of tea tree oil which was a scent he would only ever associate with his shining nephew.

“I will forge your crown myself, Khuzlimil. (Golden one)” He pressed a kiss of blessing to Fíli’s head, lamenting the showy display but for the fact that none here would judge him.

“Uncle, I-” Fíli’s voice cracked and he dipped his head.

How close had he come to never hearing that word fall from their lips again? What would the point be of living if he had lost all them? He would have never allowed himself to see his sister again. He had been unable to protect her husband at Khazad-Dum, and he had very nearly cost her her sons.

They were the reason he had wanted to reclaim the mountain. They deserved so much more than the life he had managed to provide. All of their generation had grown up as vagabonds. Travelers untrusted by men who were given no hospitality.

They had it. Long after his death, his people would be provided for.

The emotions of his nephews and Balin were so tangled with his own that he couldn’t pick them apart. Perhaps he was not meant to. There wasn’t anything terrible in the mix, painful certainly, but not ill. Fear, anger, irritation, it was all absent. He could bask in the depths of love for a long time.

He forgot, often, that they felt for him. He knew his own heart and the love he bore for his kin, but he often forgot that they returned that emotion. He had a hard time seeing past his failures, especially of late.

He turned towards Balin, shocked by the affection he could feel. His hands found the shorter dwarf’s shoulders and settled there. He looked into his mentors eyes for a long moment and then thumped his forehead against Balin’s. He hadn’t done the simple greeting since they had reclaimed the mountain.

He had nearly died and he had not even embraced his nephews.

Was that what the witch was speaking of? It seemed shocking that he had held himself back from letting them know their worth in so simple of ways. He could not afford to do such things in public, of course, but in the privacy of their council? When there was none but the Company? He had trusted them with his life. He could trust them with that. They would not see him as less. They had seen him utterly mad by the arkenstone and had not forsaken him.

They would allow him the weakness of caring. “Will you do the honors of crowning me?”

There had been no mention yet of who would perform the ceremony. They had originally intended on Gandalf, but the wizard had not been heard from yet. Thorin would crown Bard once he was King, and in doing so they would be declaring an alliance before their people. Erebor would very publicly be siding with Dale and Bard’s line. There would undoubtedly be a upheaval from the men of Laketown that still served the Master. Erebor would need to be ready to aid Dale in more than just gold.

“With the greatest pleasure, Sire.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

He turned to Bilbo, feeling a warm surge in his heart that he couldn’t tell the origin of. It made him feel unsteady. “You have done me great honor at risk to yourself, Master Baggins. I thank you. Whatever you desire, you have but to ask and it will be given to you.”

“I’ll, er, keep that in mind, majesty.” Bilbo’s smile wasn’t quite certain, very surprised, and rather pleased. He liked the look of surprised on the hobbit’s face. The pleasure of it was enough to cause him a small smile as well, one that was hard to guard against.

“Come along, lads, we’ve got to tend to the plans. Bilbo, assist Thorin with the changes I mentioned on the way here.” Balin stepped back and Thorin turned his gaze on his mentor. The dwarf was smiling knowingly, and Fíli’s eyes were lighting with similar knowledge.

Just what he needed. The entire Company would know of his affections by the evening. They would all try and arrange for them to spend more time together. It would be impossible to maintain his composure.

He would have to redouble his efforts to appear uncaring. He could not allow himself this.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo stayed with him until after dinner. The hobbit was quick to laugh, calm in a way he hadn’t been since Beorn’s. It was enjoyable, but for the constant guard he had to keep. He couldn’t let the smile that felt so near loose, or keep his hands unclenched less he brush it over Bilbo’s shoulder, his arm, his cheek.

Dwalin escorted them back to Thorin’s chambers, remaining distant as always. Bilbo didn’t even seem to mind his presence. He laughed and chatted still. At the end of the walk Bilbo lingered for a moment with bright eyes that Thorin was incapable of looking away from. His heart felt as though it had quite forgotten how to beat properly. His breath felt shallow and he felt as if his chest was yearning to know what the hobbit was feeling.

It was horribly difficult to keep his hands at his side.

“Thank you for the company." He said as politely as he could. He knew Bilbo still enjoyed politeness despite how much less proper he'd had to be in the last year.

"You are most welcome, sire." Bilbo dipped his head adorably (he was in so much trouble) and Thorin noticed that the hobbit’s ears were red. He straightened back up and smiled for a moment longer before walking back the way they came. He ran his hand along Thorin’s arm as he left, making his breath audibly hitch. Bilbo paused the barest moment in his exit, his eyes darting towards Thorin’s. It was just long enough for Thorin to turn his head towards the hobbit.

He watched Bilbo walk away and then unlocked his door. He rushed inside, sliding the lock back into place with an unsteady hand. He felt like he was fleeing his heart.

The fire was already lit and the room was thankfully empty. There was no evidence of a glowing woman.

He looked around for a moment, taking in the quiet emptiness of it. The room was warm and cozy, far smaller than the room he’d had as a child, and smaller than the place he’d had at Ered Luin. It had a table and a bed, two chairs and a chest for his clothes. Thranduil had been irritated at the small quarters, Bard found them too large.

How differently they had all lived.

He crossed the floor in a few quick strides, discarding his surcoat and weskit as he went. He deposited Orcrist beside the bed and slipped his knife in a niche under the pillow there. He pulled the quilt and fur back before sitting down and kicking his boots off. His socks came off next, and then his belt. He discarded them on the floor, deciding he could clean them up at a later time. His vambraces were added to the pile, along with his armored shirt.

He took time unlacing his tunic, and he couldn’t help but think of Bilbo’s hand trailing along his arm. The hobbit’s smiling face swam before his eyes, with flushed cheeks and a laugh on his tongue. His grip tightened on the hem of his tunic and he ripped it up and off, forcefully pushing the image, and memories away. He had spent half a day with Bilbo. It would be enough.

He’d done a poor job of controlling himself as was. He lost either way. If he acted on his emotions, the witch got what she wanted. If he didn’t, it was solely to defy her and would probably injure those he did love.

Why had she picked him to interfere with?

“Sire?” Dwalin’s voice boomed through the door and startled Thorin as he dropped his tunic to the ground. He stood up instantly, suddenly aware of how utterly tired he was.

“Enter.” He shoved at his clothes with his foot, pushing them under the bed and out of his way. Dwalin was always surprisingly neat with his items. A life time of travel had seen that he kept his possessions ready to run with at all times.

The door was pushed open by Dwalin, who was smirking. He winked and stepped aside to reveal Bilbo. The hobbit stepped into the room with his head down and Dwalin clicked the door shut again.

“Master Baggins?” Bilbo played with the hem of his jacket and lifted his head. His eyes widened as they raised, catching on Thorin’s chest and staying a beat too long before he met Thorin’s gaze.

His heartbeat quickened.

“I-” Bilbo swallowed and tugged at his jacket’s edge before taking another small step forward. Thorin felt as if he was on the edge of something important. Some precipice that would change everything.

“May I kiss you?”


	8. Chapter 8

“May I kiss you?”

Thorin had no control whatsoever over the way his body jerked and his hand spasmed at the blunt words Bilbo spoke. The hobbit had a soft, half smile on his lips while he looked at Thorin, completely unabashed. The flush of his cheeks was the only hint of his nerves.

“What?” Not the most dignified of response, but Bilbo seemed to be glowing even brighter and Thorin’s heart was doing its level best to beat to the thump-thump-thump of the goblins drums. He wasn’t certain it had ever given such a hard thump.

“May I kiss you?” Bilbo shrugged his shoulders, no longer quite so thin as they had been after the battle. He had healed physically, and in spirit since that time. “I don’t believe you’d ever initiate a kiss with me for the need to remain proper and I would rather not make you uncomfortable with having to figure out how to properly ask in your culture. I know dwarv-dwarrows appreciate bluntness. So here I go. I greatly enjoy your company, and you’re very handsome by Hobbit standards, so I should like to give you a kiss. If you’d rather not, I’m quite alright with that. I simply thought I’d ask. There’s no harm in asking.”

It was, perhaps, the politest Thorin had ever heard someone ask for a kiss. Though, Hobbits were polite in all they did.

“Though,” Bilbo added thoughtfully, a blush becoming more evident, “you can probably feel my interest.”

“No. Your emotions are hidden from me.” He was hardly aware of saying the words past the pounding of his chest and the thunder of blood in his ears. The earth seemed to be shifting under his feet. The thrum of emotions under his skin was none but his own. Even while they made him dizzy, they were solely his.

“Really?” Bilbo seemed to perk up at that admission and took a small step forward. “Then I’ll ask again. May I kiss you?”

He didn’t feel his mouth move, but he heard a yes echoing in the air that was obviously him at the same time his head nodded. Bilbo’s smile grew larger and he crossed the floor to stand in front of Thorin.

The hobbit simply stared up at him with that smile and for a moment Thorin thought he had misunderstood or misheard everything- and then Bilbo’s lips were there, chapped and dry against his own, warm and utterly impossible. The hobbit’s hand curved around the base of his skull as their mouths fit together, like two pieces of a clasp clicking in place. He tilted his head down and the kiss went hot and intent, Bilbo’s tongue sliding possessively into his mouth. _Claiming_ him until his breath stuttered in his throat.

He had never experienced such a thing.

Though it might have been asked for politely, it was not a polite kiss. It was a declaration, one Thorin could not go back against. The ache around his heart exploded outwards, sending sparks along his nerves and thickening his blood. He surged forward without thought, bringing his left hand to Bilbo’s waist and his right hand to the hobbit’s cheek. He stepped forward, pushing Bilbo back until there was a thud and their lips separated long enough for Bilbo to release a ‘oh!’

He stared at Bilbo for a moment, his heart galloping uncontrollably in his chest as Bilbo stared up at him, pressed against the wall with nowhere to go. He released the hobbit’s hip and cheek, pressing his hands to either side of Bilbo’s head instead. The hobbit watched him unblinkingly, his blue eyes dark in the fire light.

He was nowhere near strong enough to resist. He could never have expected the pull of longing. He had felt the burning for days, and he had known desire for others but it was nothing to _this_.

This being the pull he could feel in his entire body. The fierce ache of want and the fire of need that threatened to consume him.

Bilbo pressed up against him and moved his hands from the base of Thorin’s skull to the braids on either side of his head. He grabbed them tightly and tugged until their lips were meeting in a battle of lips and tongues that made Thorin once again feel strangely outside of time. They kissed like that for sometime, with no care for anything else. His heart throbbed with each stroke of Bilbo’s tongue, and each press of lips seemed to send a bolt of pleasure through him that he could feel all the way to his toes.

When the kiss gentled, it became languid, nearly lazy. He pressed deep kisses to Bilbo’s mouth, uncertainty uncurling in the back of his mind. If he had misread Bilbo’s intentions and this was a one-off, he would make certain he knew Bilbo’s taste, and that Bilbo would always remember the touch of Thorin any time they saw each other.

He gave a few more deep, searching kisses that had Bilbo’s hands tightening on his braids until he ended it with a slow tug of Bilbo’s bottom lip.

It was hard, far more so than it should have been, to pull away. Harder still to open his eyes and look down at Bilbo. He had acted hastily once permission had been given, and he was uncertain he could go back. The burn in his chest intensified at the mere thought.

Again, if emotions had not been involved he could simply have enjoyed the kiss for what it was.

When he managed to open his eyes it was to see that Bilbo’s were still closed. He had long lashes. Thorin had noticed that early on,  but it marveled him how fetching they were now. The same bronze color as his hair, though lacking the hint of red that was evident when Bilbo was in the sun. He couldn’t help but wonder how they would brushing against him while-

He clamped down on the thought and brought his hands away from the wall to hang pointlessly by his side.

Bilbo’s eyes opened slowly, hazy in a way that made hot arousal shoot through Thorin’s body to mix with the ache of longing. The hobbit blinked twice and smiled up at Thorin.

“Thank you.” He loosened his grip on Thorin’s braids and ran his hand down them until only his fingertips rested on the beads that clasped them. “I confess that I may not have thought this bit out.”

“Which bit?” His head felt strange, thick and slow as if it was stuffed with cotton.

“The leaving bit.” Bilbo toyed with his beads, refusing to meet his gaze and Thorin’s heart faltered in it’s beating.

“Ah.” It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough but there was nothing he could say. He half expected the glowing lady to appear and laugh at how easily manipulated he was.

“I didn’t think I’d get this far. I expected a dismissal. Probably a rude one that I would hopefully be able to laugh off.”

“I would not have been rude. As I told you, I am quite capable of being diplomatic.” He should have refused, but it was too late. He would not lament his choices. Besides, he had confessed to nothing but desire. Bilbo had asked to kiss him, not the other way around.

Bilbo hummed and twirled a lock of Thorin’s hair around his fingers. “So you say.” He released Thorin’s hair and smiled. The hobbit’s hand hovered over his chest for a moment before dropping to his side to hook in his braces. They remained there for only a moment before they found their way to Thorin’s shoulders. Bilbo pressed up on his tip toes and pressed a kiss to Thorin’s cheek that had his own, softer cheek, sliding against him. It tingled all the way down to his beard. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sire.” And then the Burglar was walking away with one last look back as he opened the door.

His eyes were soft, greener now in the fire light, and his smile was unmistakable.

-[]-[]-[]-

He had not had a worse night sleep in a while. He half expected the glowing lady to speak with him about how emotionally horrible he was. He would have nearly welcomed the distraction from his own thoughts.

He was violently lamenting his lack of rest now. The ceremony would start in a moment and he would be crowned the King of Erebor. He would be solely responsible for leading its people to prosperity.

Balin was assisting him with the final preparations to his wardrobe. It was fitting that it should be this way. Balin had been with him the longest, always a strong support. Dwalin was guarding the door and would escort him to the head table where he would be crowned. He would then Crown Bard as the Lord of Dale. Once that was finished, he would anoint Fíli as his heir. He would forge the dwarf prince a crown with his own hands when the forges were finally operational again.

That would take a long while. Smaug had thoroughly smashed the lower level.

His mentor clasped the final bit of his cloak. It was a deep blue the color of Durin’s crest, with a white fur lining. Thorin was fairly certain the fur had come from the Defiler’s mount. The white haired dwarf was sending out emotions of excitement and a deep contentment. One that did wonders to soothe his frayed nerves.

He said nothing as Balin worked. What words could express his gratitude?

Balin stepped back and eyed his full ensemble with a critical gaze and a tilt of his head. “You know, you look the king I imagined you would.” He gave his head an approving nod and Thorin found his throat thick. “It was your eyes.” Balin continued, turning to pick up Orcrist and fasten it to Thorin’s waist. The words were spoken quietly. Quietly enough that Thorin would have thought them imagined if Balin hadn’t met his eyes before he turned.

“My eyes?” Balin brought the sword to him and wrapped the belt around his waist with practiced ease. He fidgeted with it until it hung to his approval.

“Yes. That was why I knew you’d be a far better king than your father, or your father’s father.”

“You have always said that it was the Battle of Azanulbizar.”

“It was, but it wasn’t simply the battle. You stood up on the hill with the setting sun lighting you, like a warrior of ancient legend. The true picture of a king, but it wasn’t the pose. It was the determination in your eyes. I could read  everything, the pain, the hate, the fear, the love.” Balin swallowed thickly and stepped back. He lifted an amulet with the crest of Durin and brought it around Thorin’s neck. He stepped behind Thorin and clasped it as he continued to speak. “I knew in my essence that you would not fail us. You would give your life blood to save us without hesitation. You would lead our people to greatness once more. It was the love in your eyes that spoke of it.”

“You already knew all of that.” Balin was not shy with his thoughts or heart. He had never spoken of such a thing before. Thorin had only ever heard him praise his actions of leading his people.

But he could feel the dwarf’s loyalty to him. He could feel the heart of him, full of love and care for Thorin.

“But I could see it. I had not heard you speak it, but I could feel it pouring off you. In that moment I simply knew I had found my king.” Balin patted the amulet and stepped away as he spoke. He left with a small smile, seeming unaware that he had just shaken Thorin to his very core.

He stood still, unwilling to move while he waited for Dwalin to fetch him for the crowning.

He had imagined this day countless times, but always so very differently. He had imagined, when he was a child, that it would be his father crowning him as heir apparent. As an outcast dwarf he imagined it happening on the corpse of Smaug. (His hate ran deep.) In more recent years he could not truly picture it.

He had never once imagined it happening in the feasting hall with men present.

When Dwalin entered he had managed to calm his heart and the strange feeling of surrealness had all but faded. He took strong steps into the hall, his guard beside him and his people waiting on him. The warrior’s emotions were more subdued, but no less caring and loyal.

The people of Erebor (and he was certain that his nephews, Bilbo, and Ori had also aided in the decorating) had outdone themselves with the hall. They’d decorated it with branches from oak trees (which had him wanting to smile like a loon) and covered the hall in candles that they’d somehow managed to hang from the ceiling. The scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove was heavy in the air, a wonderful reminder of treats that seemed to only be served on Yule and the new year. The tables were set with greenery and oak branches, with trays of sweets at the center of each. The head table had been set upon a block so that it was higher than the others, and the center chair was a good foot taller than those at its sides. Balin stood in front of the table, waiting his arrival with the company at his side. Bard’s men stood on the left and the entire hall seemed to hold its breath as he entered.

The emotions that whirled around him were primarily warm and positive. Feelings of joy, excitement, curiosity. There was a bit of foreboding that made his heart speed up in second-hand worry.

He ascended the steps to the front of the hall until he was in front of Balin. He waited a breath, a nearly painful joy beating in his chest at the soft joy in Balin’s eyes. He knelt then and Balin looked out at the crowd.

“Dwarrows of Erebor, Men of Dale, Hobbit of the Shire, I here present unto you Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain the last King under the Mountain. You have all come here this day to pay homage and service to him.” He dropped his gaze to Thorin, the grey of his eyes blurry from unshed tears. “Are you, Thorin Oakenshield, willing to do the same for them?”

“I am.” The feel of the Company at his side was nearly enough to make it hard to breathe. He had known they were loyal to him, but to feel the depths of it.

He could hardly hope to control his heart.

“Will you solemnly promise and swear before our Maker to govern the Peoples of Erebor according the her laws and customs?”

“I do so solemnly swear.”

“Will you, as much as it is in your power, insure that justice and mercy are given in all your judgments and take into account the council of your people?”

“I will.” He swallowed, his skin tingling with the final speech to be made and the sense of power gathering in the air. “The things which I have promised here before you all, I will keep. May the Valar deal with me ever so severely if I should break any of my oaths promised today.”

Óin stepped forward with the crown, which he presented to Balin. Balin lifted it in his hands, held it high so that the entirety of the hall could see it, and brought it down to rest on Thorin’s head.

It fit as though it were made for him. Its weight brought memories of younger days when he had worn a crown at his Grandfather’s side.

“All hail King Thorin Oakenshield. All hail the return of the King Under the Mountain!”

He stood up and turned to face the hall as thunderous applause echoed everywhere. His Company dropped to their knees in a sign of fealty that made something fierce and protective rise in Thorin’s chest. For these few he would move any obstacle. He would fight any danger to keep them safe, he would die to be the king they deserved.

Bard entered the hall, clothed in a rich red of Dale. The power of the Lord of old was obvious in his face, and he took a moment to berate himself for not having noticed the apparent lineage earlier.

He spoke the oaths over Bard, who felt remarkably grateful, far more than he probably should have. The crown of Dale was silver in color, and had been caringly brought back to its pre-Smaug splendor. He did not ask where it had come from. He simply spoke his lines, listened for Bard’s responding oaths, and placed the crown on the dark head.

“Now comes the Reign of King Bard. May it be long and well blessed.” He spoke the words quietly, for Bard’s ears only as he assisted the man to his feet. The men of Dale sent out a burst of joy that made his heart thump and he had to swallow to keep his voice.

“Thank you, King Thorin.” Bard returned, his dark eyes intent and his stern face set. “For the honor and for my son’s life.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment and the man moved to his side. He waited a beat, wishing his heart would return to its normal rhythm before lowering his gaze to Fíli. The blond dwarf was smiling up at him, uncaring that his happiness was evident to all.

“Come before me, Fíli slayer of Azog.” His nephew did as he requested, his hair shining like spun gold in the candlelight. The future king of Erebor, Lionhearted and loyal.

Fíli knelt, his green tinted eyes locked on Thorin’s with a mischievous smile. He had much to learn, but he had a good heart. He would make an excellent King someday.

He spoke the words that would make Fíli his heir loudly. Proudly declaring before all that inhabited Erebor that Fíli was his, and he would support him in all that he did. He pressed a kiss of blessing to the shining head and stepped back as Fíli rose, his golden aura nearly vibrating with excitement. Kíli had his own jaw grit and the presence of tears in his eyes did not go unnoticed by Thorin. His silver aura was stretching towards Fíli. He could feel a deep pride and love radiating from him, and it made him want to embrace them both.

He would not let himself come so close to losing them both again.


	9. Chapter 9

Wine was served at the feast. It seemed that wine was a tradition of the new year regardless of the culture one hailed from. Thranduil had gifted them with caskets of miruvor before they left, and by Thorin’s calculation, the two hundred or so inhabitants of Erebor had very nearly gone through the entirety of the gift.

He couldn’t help but recall how Balin had said that Gandalf described Dwarrow parties. “Why their quite a merry gathering.”

Merry indeed.

The air was filled with a warm fuzz of happiness that was far preferable to the panic that had filled the last feast. The laughter, and too-loud voices that too much drink inspired, still echoed everywhere, but the atmosphere was far preferable.

Men and dwarrows spoke with each other, and not in insult. The two months they had been living together had clearly softened their ire. The hard work they joined in and the feast they now enjoyed seemed to be working as Bard and he had hoped.

The giddiness that brought him was strange. Hardly two and a half months ago he had been intent on ignoring the entire race of men. Now he was grateful for their assistance, and determined to remain allied.

Feast were good for moral. They gave the men and dwarrows something to share in. Whether they celebrated traditions they shared, or simply gloried in a job well done. His mother had told him to always have celebrations and holidays. Happy subjects were the only kind of subjects that could be ruled. Even on the path to Ered Luin, in the dark days, he had made certain there were celebrations. They had celebrated births, weddings, and betrothals.

He would do the same here. Joy had to be embraced wherever it could.

He had almost forgotten his mother’s advice in the long trek of the last year. So consumed with the task before him, he had hardly noticed anything else. Had they ever stopped to celebrate on the road? Only at Bag End, Rivendell, Beorn’s, and Laketown had they partaken of real food and song.

How horrible that they had only done so at the home of others.

He would have been deeply distracted by such thoughts had it not been necessary that he mingle with his dwarrows and the men of Dale. There was little time for any thought when he was deep in the crowd and surrounded by battling emotions.

It was disconcerting to feel someone’s emotions go from the warm fuzz of contentment to the icy coolness of dislike. It buzzed against his own skin, trying to make him wary and distrusting before he even began to speak. It was difficult, infinitely so, to remain calm and friendly when hate was pouring at him.

There was also those in the crowd who were terrified. It made his heart race and his palms sweat until he managed to find the proper moment to crack a joke. Half the time the frightened individual would relax, but the other half grew even more alarmed.

It was exhausting.

Still worse was Bilbo. He would feel a gaze on himself and search the crowd only to see Bilbo’s eyes dart away. Anytime he neared the hobbit the Burglar would slip away in the crowd so that Thorin could not follow, with nothing but a glance over his shoulder. Thorin stopped even trying to do so after the third time. Whatever reason had seen Bilbo waltzing into his room last night, it had not been the same sort of desire that burned in his bones.

By the time he had made an entire circle of the hall he felt lost lost, almost twisted with confusion. Every emotion he had was warring for predominance in his heart, pushed by the countless faces he had greeted. Still, Bilbo’s blatant avoidance confused him the utter most. Next to all of that confused, tangled, and frazzled emotions was an exhaustion the likes of which he had never felt. It pierced him to his very bone, leaving him feeling as though he was nothing more than an empty shell.

He had hoped for celebration, not a fight against collapsing. He was not made to house so much emotion. No one was.

Balin, his ever loyal Balin, noticed first. He swept Thorin to the side with the pretence of ‘discussing a matter of state’ and gave him a glass of ale that was far better than the wine that Thranduil had gifted. He took a steadying gulp of the warm, nutty drink and exhaled until it felt as though he had nothing left inside.

“Is it that bad, sire?” Concern was predominate in Balin’s emotions. The dark glow of him seemed to stretch towards Thorin’s feet, almost as though the light wanted to comfort him. He longed to wrap himself in the light and let it comfort his worn edges.

He was the King of Erebor. He could not allow himself the weakness or the comfort in such a place as this. When the feast was over he would speak with his friends.

“The wine has made them less controlled.” He replied easily. It was not a lie, but hardly began to describe the true problem.

“Bard doesn’t seem to be having a much better time of it. Fíli had to aid him in talks with several of Daín’s dwarrows.”

It never ended. Could his people not see the need for alliances? He had crowned Bard himself! The Arkenstone had been returned, and he had risked his life to aid Bain. Surely they were leading by example. Was there something else they required of him before they would at least pretend to be civil?

“It was quite impressive.” Dwalin interjected, seeming to materialize out of the shadows. “The lad’s grown far better with negotiations since the incident in Ered Luin.”

“Which one?” Balin asked with an amused smile. “The lads caused endless incidents.”

“That was rather the point.” Thorin said between another swallow. He could see Kíli from his current position. His nephew was limping ever so slightly towards Bard’s eldest daughter, Sigrid. There was a less than savory looking man hanging at her side. His nephew would make certain she could travel without the unwanted gaze. He was protective of the three siblings who had aided in saving his life.

Fíli was by Bard who was laughing at something he had said. Fíli’s responding grin was large enough for Thorin to see, and soothed his chest a little. The rest of the Company could be seen mingling as well. They would make a fine council.

Dwalin stiffened at his right side, drawing Thorin from his observations. He turned his head to look at his guard and found him staring at something to Thorin’s left. He looked over and saw Bilbo slowly walking towards them with a cup of ale.

“The halfling finally shows his face.” Dwalin growled, looking annoyed. Irritation flickered from him, teasing along Thorin’s right side. He swallowed the last of the ale Balin had given him and cherished the way it burned along his veins.

“Has he been avoiding you?”

“It would seem.” Thorin answered mildly. Balin took the cup from him with a mild frown. The concern from him intensified and Thorin found it harder to concentrate on what he actually felt. His heart wanted to race at the sight of the hobbit, and the constant ache in his chest flared to heated life. It was pushed by the other emotions, enhanced and tangled with anxiety.

He rather hated the glowing witch. She was probably laughing at him right now.

Bilbo reached them and, with a glance at Dwalin and Balin that Thorin couldn’t read, he bowed to Thorin. “Your majesty.” He tilted his head up and, meeting Thorin’s gaze, held the cup up to him with a smile that was unlike any other Thorin had seen on him. He took the offered cup slowly, his heart hammering surprisingly quickly. He could hear the rush of it in his ears, and it was suddenly very hard indeed to know what anyone else was feeling. “So long as I may call you that.”

He swallowed a drink of the liquid thickly, feeling as though it was fire in his throat.

It took him a moment, because Bilbo’s eyes were so bright and his chest _burned_ , to understand what the hobbit meant. The earlier conversation, which seemed to have happened a life time ago, where he had told Bilbo he was not subjected to Thorin’s rule. “You may, so long as you wish to dwell in Erebor.”

His fingers brushed along Bilbo’s as the hobbit took the cup back. His eyes were locked on Bilbo’s face, and he saw the hobbit’s mouth drop the slightest bit open at the touch.

Hope flared in his chest, and it irritated him. Bilbo had surely played with his heart last night, and actively avoided him during the entirety of the feast. Yet still his heart yearned for the confounding hobbit and was thrilled at the thought of the merest scrap of the Burglar’s affection.

He would drag Dwalin to a practice session tonight. It would be nice to hit something. At least he could release _some_ of his frustrations that way.

“Then you shall remain my King for a long time yet, Sire.” Bilbo murmured the words as he set the goblet on the ground.

Balin’s eyebrows shot up to disappear in his hair while Dwalin stiffened at his side. He was nearly smiling before he noticed and lamented his utter lack of control and exhausted body. He could not even control his head.

Balin slipped into the crowd and Dwalin took two measured steps to the right and promptly stopped. Bilbo gave him a look and Dwalin simply glared.

Bilbo huffed an amused breath and looked back at Thorin. He pointedly did not feel excited to have the hobbit looking at him again, regardless of what his heart wanted.

He also did not want to lament that Dwalin was still standing so close. Thorin was a king, he would never truly be alone. Dwalin had been at his side since he was a babe. He had literally grown up into the position of body guard. A much as he did not want to think about it, the dwarf had undoubtedly been aware of what had transpired in his room during the night. Dwalin would not easily trust Thorin’s heart not to be hurt, even if he had no right to try and protect it.

“I offer you my fealty.” Bilbo’s hands slipped around Thorin’s hands as he dropped to one knee.  

He was confused and felt as if his breath would never be proper again. He had felt too much, his nerves were tense and he was set to crack at the slightest provocation.

Bilbo, his eyes alight with mischief, brought Thorin’s hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss of reverence to his knuckles with a flash of tongue that made heat unfurl frightfully fast in Thorin’s stomach.

And then Bilbo stood, took the cup back up, pressed it into Thorin’s hands once more, and left with a flash of golden curls and a smile as bright as his hair.

“Well,” Dwalin huffed, amusement making his glow brighter, “Should I keep your room unlocked tonight?”

Thorin ignored him and sipped at the ale.

-[]-[]-[]-

“That,” Thorin growled as Bilbo clutched his shoulders and pressed closer, “is not fair.”

And it wasn’t fair, though he could not recall how he had gotten in such a position to save his life. He was once more shirtless, with his braids undone and his jewelry gone. He was nearly naked by dwarf standards. Bilbo was seated on his lap, his warm legs spread wide over Thorin’s thighs as he tangled his fingers in Thorin’s loose locks. His lips were red from their shared kisses, and his cheeks were pink from the burn of Thorin’s beard.

He enjoyed the sight far more than he probably should.

He was almost certain it had started with Bilbo asking if he wanted tea. There had been a late snack, and scones might have been involved. He had been readying himself for sleep...

“Why would I play fair?” Bilbo laughed against his lips, his chest brushing against Thorin’s in a devilish slide that had his hands clutching more tightly at the hobbit’s generous waist. “Have you not heard? I’m a burglar.” He whispered the last bit into Thorin’s ear, his curls brushing Thorin’s cheek and his breath a warm and intimate thing that had want clenching in Thorin’s stomach.

Bilbo tugged on the ear cuff that his father had gifted him the day the Arkenstone was discovered, and he couldn’t quite control the shiver that coursed through his body.

He was playing a dangerous game. Bilbo already had his heart, and each touch made the desire he felt for the hobbit stronger.

Still, he could not ignore the way that Bilbo pressed closer. The way his toes brushed along the sides of his legs, or the way Bilbo’s fingers could never stay still. The way they tugged on everything they could find, or gripped his skin with impressive strength for one so small.

Bilbo also paid special attention to his hair. He had always been tender-headed, but Bilbo’s tugs were anything but painful. He would have given Bilbo half his kingdom if he had asked simply from the way his hair was being stroked.

“Funny,” Bilbo hummed, threading his fingers through Thorin’s hair again and twirling his fingers around the locks while his other hand slid up Thorin’s arm to grip his shoulder. He could feel a faint bite of nails and wanted to press into the sensation.

“What is?”

“That you’re practically purring under my hand. I would have expected you to be more wolf like.” He snorted suddenly, and dropped his head to rest in the crook of Thorin’s neck. He could _feel_ the hobbit’s laughter against his skin. It made his pulse spike even more and, despite the mildly rude words, he clutched Bilbo all the closer. His eyes, which had fallen shut at some point, slipped open slowly while Bilbo followed his laughter up with a nip to his muscles.

A familiar glowing blonde was standing ten or so feet from the bed, her eyebrow raised and an amused smile on her lips.

Thorin jerked, falling back and tugging Bilbo with him. He had the hobbit off his lap, pressed on the bed, with his own bulk covering him before he could even fully exhale.

“Thorin?!” Bilbo sounded shocked, and indignant.

“What do you want, witch?” To gloat? She had certainly caught him. The evil enchantress had probably planned this very moment. Had she bewitched Bilbo to lead him here?

The mere thought of taking advantage of Bilbo made him physically ill. He feared he would vomit for a horrible moment as the thought flowed through him.

“Witch?” Bilbo pushed himself up from behind Thorin while the lady walked closer. She was wearing a dress of deep green with gold embroidered on the edges. There were gems attached as well, though they seemed to stay on the fabric without the aid of thread.

“I came to see how the King was enjoying his reign and to offer advice. I did not intend to spy.” Her smile grew larger.

“Then you should not have appeared without the courtesy of knocking!”

“Now I know you’re not talking to me. Who is it?”

Thorin stilled, his blood running cold as the witch’s smile grew all the larger. Bilbo’s hand settled on his shoulder, trying to peer around his body. The hobbit’s curls were a mess from where Thorin’s hand had pulled at them, and his lips looked darker and larger than when he had arrived. His cheeks were red from where he’d rubbed them against Thorin’s beard.

The hobbit was looking right where the lady was, but he could not apparently see her.

“Of course he cannot see me. I have only allowed you that privilege. For now at least.” Her green eyes darted to Bilbo and her gaze went soft and adoring. “Though I may allow him to at some date.”

“Why have you come here now?” Bilbo settled down behind him, apparently accepting the fact that Thorin was going to continue talking with someone he couldn’t see. He left his hand on Thorin’s shoulder all the same, and that was wonderfully grounding.

“As I said, I wished to congratulate you.”

She really was remarkably beautiful. There was an iciness to her current appearance despite the warmth of her apparel and the color of her. It felt old with memory, and deep thought… Tired in a way. Weary and resting. Like winter embodied.

“You have done so. You are now free to leave.”

“Bilbo seems to have made you forget your manners.” She laughed, a high, delighted noise and Bilbo stiffened against his back. “Which would make any hobbit horrified.”

“How do you know him?”

“Him? Me?” Bilbo sounded alarmed. It made Thorin’s chest tighten even more. “Why won’t she show herself? It’s horribly rude to talk about someone and not have the courtesy to appear before them.”

She laughed again, clear and ringing. “And you, dear hobbit, would know about that.”

Bilbo jumped and tried to move from behind Thorin. He stopped him with his arm. “No, Thorin,” he pushed to no avail. He was strong for his size but nothing compared to Thorin. “I _heard_ that.”

“Stay.” He spoke the words as a single echoing command that had Bilbo stilling in surprise. “What else do you want, Lady of Green? You have seen and congratulated.”

“I have found that you are freeing yourself more. The sight is pleasing.” She took a step back, her smile growing as her eyes darted to Bilbo again. “Lady of Green? I like the title. As for your other question? I know all hobbits. You might wish to offer him a flower. Daisies are his favorite. You might find some if you check the rebuilding of the front gate.” She dipped her head, a silly smile playing at her lips that was somehow _still_ lovely.

He sat quietly for a long moment, his heart beating strangely hard in his chest.

“Thorin?”


	10. Chapter 10

“Thorin,” Bilbo’s hand tightened on his shoulder while another hand slid up his right arm. The hobbit had pleasantly warm hands that never seemed to chill, “is she gone?”

“She has vanished as always.” He held a moment and finally turned his head. He could feel his hair follow over his shoulder, a tickle of sensation against the scar of Azog’s blow. Bilbo’s eyes were a strange place between green and blue. Lovely in their intensity. “You heard her?”

Bilbo bit his lip, his eyes darting to where the witch had been as he nodded his head. “I-yes. Her voice and a laugh.” He stayed still another second and then slid around so he was at Thorin’s side. “Why was she here?”

“She said she wished to congratulate me.” His hand rested on Bilbo’s hip, a little too easily, “and that she had not intended to intrude.” His other hand settled on Bilbo’s hip as well, holding the hobbit steady and close.

Bilbo had _heard_ her. It soothed his mind in a place he had never realized was worried. He knew, he _knew_ that he was not mad. He could remember the terror of it, the inability to escape the voices and dark desire. The way he had not truly been in control of himself, or even capable of thinking.

But to know that Bilbo had heard her calmed the fear that he might go mad again. She was real.

His burglars cheeks were extremely pink. “Goodness! How did I get myself into such a thing?” He gave his head a little shake, and in contrast to his words, he straddled Thorin’s thighs once more.  His hands found their way back to Thorin’s shoulders. “Does she usually stay longer?”

“Her visits are never long.” Bilbo shuffled closer and settled down, his eyes studying Thorin’s face with a startling frankness. The few other lovers he had enjoyed in his life had been unaware of who he was- something he had taken great pains to ensure-and thus had never truly _seen_ him regardless of what they did. Bilbo had seen all of him, most in less than flattering circumstances, and still wanted to look deeper.

He didn’t fear the madness, or he hid such fear remarkably well.

“Does she seem malicious?” Bilbo’s fingers trailed up his neck, ignoring the way Thorin tensed at their touch, until they were tangling in his beard. A steadying presence. Proof he wasn’t alone, that the madness wasn’t there.

“Not especially. Annoyed more than anything else.” It was hard to focus on the words he said when Bilbo was so close, smelling of honey and pipeweed. It was harder to think when Bilbo was near. Harder to notice anything but the hobbit and the warm feeling that seemed to flow through him at the nearness of his Burglar.

“I’m sorry.” Bilbo’s head dipped down until his cheek was pressed against his again. “She has no right to interfere in such away.” His right hand trailed down Thorin’s chest until it was over the gnarl of scar tissue. “But I am glad she was there.” A kiss was pressed to his jaw as Bilbo’s nose poked through his hair. “Whatever her intentions, I am so very glad she was there.”

He could find no words. They were all stuck in his throat. A nearly painful lump of desire and longing and the wish to tell Bilbo what the hobbit meant to him. How deep he was in his heart. He wasn’t certain what stopped the words, only that they were stopped.

“She knew about hobbits?”

He nodded his head, fear blooming low in his stomach. She had been aware of Hobbits. Playful about them, if he was being honest. Hobbits were seldom known by other races. She knew too much to make Thorin comfortable. “She claimed to know all hobbits.”

“She called us hobbits as well?”

“Yes. Not Halfling or Melekun.”

“I’m going to guess that growled word was the khuzdul name?” He nodded his head in answer. Bilbo’s eyes studied his face again, unblinking. “I’m surprised you have a name for us.”

“Our language comes from Mahal.”

Bilbo nodded. “Aulë.”

“So why would he not teach us a word for the creation of his beloved?” Bilbo’s lips quirked up quickly before the hobbit smoothed it out. He seemed almost unable to control it. Thorin instantly wanted to know what had caused it. He wanted to see the helpless little smile again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Bilbo,” and the name was thick on his tongue, “Bilbo, you have no reason to be sorry. This has not been your fault. None of this has.” He couldn’t let Bilbo think that way. Thorin had endless things to atone for. Bilbo did not. He could not even understand why Bilbo let him this close. He simply embraced the fact that Bilbo did.

“But now she knows. I-I tried to be quiet and not to let anyone know…” It hurt. Bilbo wanting to keep them-whatever they were-a secret. As if it was something shameful.

So few words should not be able to have such an effect on him. His heart thumped and seemed to stop while his blood ran thick and cold through his veins. He had not hoped, not thought to care, but…

He was not wanted by the hobbit. It would not matter. He was in control of his heart, he would make it unfeeling in regards to the bronze haired Shireling. He had known going in that it would amount to nothing. He had gone on regardless.

The hobbit dipped his head and pressed closer. “You’re a king. You have to stay above the public eye. I just ruined your reputation because I couldn’t be more careful.” He shook his head, and Thorin’s chest was tight.

“I am not trying to hide you, Bilbo. I simply didn’t want you to have to be in the public eye. They are not forgiving, and quick to be cruel.” Bilbo brushed his nose against Thorin’s throat, surprisingly intimate.

“I know… You aren’t the type to hide what you really think.” He sighed and pulled back a little. “It’s late, isn’t it? I should be going. You’ll have a council at first light.”

“You will as well, Bilbo.” The name fell too easily from his lips. How many times had he already spoken it? It was hard to name the hobbit anything else.

“Mmhmm, but I’m more of a morning person than any of your dwarrows… except Bofur or Ori.” He pulled back as he spoke, his hand trailing back up Thorin’s chest to rest over his heart. He would swear that it thumped all the harder and tried to press closer to the warmth of Bilbo’s hand.

“I seem to recall a morning or two where you were slow to wake.”

“It was the roots. Dug a hole right through my back.” Bilbo stated blithely as he slid from Thorin’s lap. He pressed a slow kiss to Thorin’s lips and stepped back. He stared at him with a blush as he buttoned his shirt back up and tugged his braces on properly. “I need to work on this exiting bit.”

The simple solution would be to tell the hobbit to stay. It was a lovely idea, but he couldn’t, not yet. He would not offend the hobbit in such a way. He decided for playful instead. “I have heard that practice makes perfect.”

“You want me to practice leaving?” Bilbo asked with a coy tilt of his head. Thorin did not think before he replied.

“Only if you always return.” The hobbits eyes lit up in a way he had never witnessed, and he couldn’t regret the words. Still, he felt vulnerable with them just floating in the wind. “I am afraid Dwalin will give you a hard time.” Bilbo stilled, tilted his head towards the door, and grinned suddenly. His hand dove into his pocket and he pulled an item out that glinted in the fire light. His smile grew all the larger as he stared at Thorin, and then he suddenly was not there.

Thorin surged from the bed with a shocked noise, his hands raising towards where Bilbo had been. The witch! She had taken-

A cold hand fell on his arm as a familiar laugh echoed in the air. “Relax, Thorin! I’m still here. It’s a trinket, a gift I won that allows me to go unseen.”

His heart refused to settle. The hand was too cold to truly be Bilbo’s, but he recognized the shape and weight of it. The voice was Bilbo’s, that much he was certain of.

Something that could make him disappear? It would explain much of his success on the quest.

Chilled lips pressed against his and his mouth dropped in surprise, which Bilbo took quick advantage of to bite his bottom lip. He pulled away slowly, giving Thorin the extremely strange experience of feeling himself be kissed by nothing. “Now I won’t have to worry about Dwalin’s teasing, or anyone spreading rumors about the King. So long as your Green Lady stays quiet.”

Before he could think of what to reply with, the door to his chamber had opened and closed.

-[]-[]-[]-

The council was dull, despite the presence of his company and hobbit. The hobbit who had a secret smile that seemed to only be for Thorin. He found he could not look at the hobbit if he wished to stay focused.

When he did his rounds of the rebuilding work, he was shocked, mildly irritated, (and slightly grateful, which he would never admit) to find a single daisy growing uncaring of the thick snow on the ground. No one else seemed to notice its appearance either.

He would need to post better guards. A daisy growing in a pile of snow was an obvious sign of magic. Though he might not have noticed before the quest. He had paid very little attention to flowers...

He plucked it and tucked it away in his pocket for reasons he was uncertain of. Dwalin was his only witness, and the guard was watching the hill where Thranduil had first appeared with a glare.

He wandered back through the city, Bilbo joining him, as he headed towards the library. Dwalin wisely made no comment on the way he stood straighter, because Thorin could feel the unending flow of excitement from him at the idea of seeing the young scribe.

Balin and Dori were already there, with Óin milling about as well. Kíli was lounging on a chair beside Ori, who was carrying a hefty stack of books to the table. Balin had a familiar wrinkle between his eyes that Thorin would always associate with endless lessons. Dori was serving cups of tea while Óin cleaned out his ear trumpet.

It was an utterly familiar sight, but no less important for it’s familiarity. Bilbo went to aid Ori along with Dwalin, while Thorin went to Balin.

“What have you found?”

“Worryingly little.”

“We know the authors of the song, of course, but they recorded nothing on their inspiration.” Ori explained with a huff as he set the books down. They tilted dangerously and Bilbo reached to straighten it without comment. Thorin took a seat beside Balin and grabbed one of the books off the table top. It was on the first dwarrows who came to the mountain. “Have you had any further success with the… erm, lady?”

“She visited last night.” Bilbo muttered, sounding annoyed. All eyes turned to him in surprise. Thorin did not shift uncomfortably in his chair, regardless of how much he actually wanted to. “I heard her but couldn’t see her. She’s powerful.”

To his surprise, no one said anything about Bilbo being with Thorin. They simply relaxed.

“Are there any mentions of something living in the heart of Erebor?” Óin asked, breaking the silence.

“No.”

“We _know_ it isn’t Durin’s Bane, right?” Kíli, to his credit, looked only a little worried over the idea. Dwalin had told him stories of the ancient demon when he was but a lad. Thorin would never forget the noises he made in his sleep from the fierceness of his nightmares. Dís had yelled at Dwalin so much that he had been scared to enter the house for nearly a month.

It was horrible to feel the fear from Kíli, and be unable to aid his young nephew. The dwarf hardly needed his comfort-he had thoroughly proven himself during the quest-but it was painful to be unable to even try. He couldn’t let others know his nephew was scared because he shouldn’t know.

He could just bear the fear as if it were his own.

“No.” Balin shut his book with a puff of dust and set it aside to pinch tiredly at his nose. “Such a large creature would not be able to hide.”

“Durin’s Bane?”

All eyes darted to Bilbo in surprise. They should have known, of course, that Bilbo would have no idea of the evil that resided in Khazad-dûm. Dwarrows did not speak of it, and only the wisest knew of what resided out there.They should have taken the time to explain such things to their hobbit.

He certainly should have.

“A Balrog. A demon of Morgoth.” He remained still as he spoke, his voice level and calm. Still, provoking the name of the most ancient evil seemed to make the air chill. Everyone sat a little straighter and looked a little more weary.

Bilbo turned several shades paler and mouthed a tiny ‘o.’ Thorin found himself immensely grateful he could not feel his fear.

“Many ancient things have sought refuge in mountains. It is not wise to go into the deep places of the world unlearned.” Balin advised as Bilbo took a seat.

“And you lot tried to retake Moria?” Bilbo’s eyes shot to Thorin, oddly accusing. It had not been Thorin’s choice to retake Khazad-dûm or not. He had been nothing but a soldier in the fight.

“We nearly did. Had my cousin, Daín, not seen Durin’s Bane in the door, we would have reclaimed her.” He could remember it still, the flame and shadow that had swirled together to make a monster of nightmare. He had only seen a little of the creature, what might have been an arm, but it was a memory that haunted him in dark places.

“I’ve found reference to a ‘Burmazanî?’” Kíli said suddenly, dropping his feet from the table he’d propped them on and sitting upright. Ori went to stand behind him while everyone else looked over.

“Burmazanî?” Balin folded his hands in his lap and cocked his head. “Man of Shadow?”

“Right here.” Kíli pointed the section out and handed the book to Ori. The scribes eyes scanned over the page, darting from side to side as he read. He got to the bottom of the page and flipped to the next one. He scanned it, frowned, flipped the page, furrowed his brow, and flipped back to the page he’d started on.

“That’s it?”

“What’s it, lad?”

He looked up to meet Balin’s eyes, frowning pronouncedly. Irritation was leaking from him and worry was nearly tastable in the air. “It’s a _footnote_. The author,” he flipped the book and squinted at the spine, “Mister Umkib, says: ‘And on the subject of night-demons, much could be said.’” he tapped the page, “follow the footnote he leaves, and much turns into: ‘Most notable are the Men of Shadow. Three have been found and beheaded.’” He looked up with indignant irritation. “that’s all he says! He goes on to blather about bats, rats, and _glow-worms_. As if they’re dangerous!”

“So it’s a night-demon?” He had never heard of such a thing. All evil things in the world prefered the night. Calling something a night-demon was ridiculous. It was like calling a demon ‘evil.’ It was already assumed in the title of _demon_.

“I have never heard of such a thing as a night-demon.” Balin said at the same time Óin said ‘which is?’

“I haven’t the faintest.” Ori huffed and passed the book back to Kíli.

“When was the book written?” Bilbo asked quietly. He was running his fingers along the spine of one of the older books. He didn’t look to be aware of the motion. It was the same way he had stroked Thorin’s braid while they spoke last night.

Thoroughly distracting.

He dragged his eyes up to Bilbo’s and forced his mind to drudge through the lessons he had endured on history for anything he might have read. Bilbo smiled at him, softly, and the lessons disappeared from his mind.

“Second Age.”

“Then the speech has probably changed.” Bilbo offered.

“Khuzdul is the same as when Mahal first taught it.” Kíli recited, his voice taking on the rhythm of lessons. That was a fact that was drilled into every dwarrows head since birth.

“No, the words might be the same, but the meaning isn’t necessarily.” He shrugged his small shoulders, clothed in a dwarrow-made tunic, and looked at Ori. “Meaning changes with culture. If it was written in the second-age, it could have been a fairly new creature. Something we’ve thought of a new, hopefully more descriptive, name for.”

Then the book would be of no help. The pale shapes that had been spotted, and blood that had been found, would continue to make appearances. Though none of the residents of Erebor had been found harmed yet, he wanted to at least know what evil needed to be expelled.

“Right it down none the less, and leave the book out. It’s a start.” Balin sighed and took another book up.

A few hours later, when it was only Ori, Dwalin, Bilbo and him, they had found very little else out. He felt like they actually knew less than when he had first entered.

When he stood to leave he felt something shift in his pocket and remembered the flower he had seen that morning. The book Bilbo was reading sat untouched on the table in front of him, hobbitless. The Burglar would be back with more books in a few minutes, so he would not be seen.

He placed the flower on Bilbo’s open book and left the library behind.


	11. Chapter 11

So he was in love with a hobbit (his One) who snuck into his room nightly to kiss and pet, but who he hadn’t exchanged courting braids with. He wasn’t even certain Bilbo liked him in that way. For all he knew, Bilbo was only physically attracted to him.

It had been endless nights of snogging and odd talk. Delightful, but confusing.

And it was something he could hardly put any real focus on. He was a full king now, and it was promising to be far busier a role than Ered Luin had ever been.

The first Ravens had been sent out to call for the caravans from the Blue Mountains. His sister would be joining him by the Summer time. Erebors halls would be full again.

In the mean time, they had to rid her of whatever evil lurked in her lower halls.

None but the Company knew that something was down there, but rumor had begun to spread like wildfire over a dead field. _Something watched in the darkness,_ they whispered, _something walked in the night._

Dwalin had posted the hardiest guards to keep the lower levels off limits. Ori and Balin more or less slept in the library with Dwalin bringing them meals. Yet still they found nothing.

They needed the libraries on the lower level. Fitting that their books would be with whatever had caused the cave end. The Line of Durin had no manner of luck at all. They seemed destined to call evil forth, and to all but destroy their own line.

“Perhaps you should ask the elves.” Bilbo’s voice was quiet, as it always was when he said something he didn’t think Thorin would like. He had grown far better at explaining his wild fancies in a way that Thorin would listen to. Mere months ago he had not even bothered to listen- no, it had changed in July, that was over half a year ago. They were only three months from when he had first met Bilbo.

Had it really nearly been a year since he started the quest to reclaim his home? In a month, he would have set out from Ered Luin to meet with the seven tribes of Durin…

“Ask them what?”

“If they know what ‘Men of Shadow’ are.”

That nettled him on principle. Ask an elf for help? Dwarrows asked none but their kin for help.

But something was leaving blood in the lower halls. His pride had already caused a war. He could not risk something as ancient and evil as Durin’s Bane to bring harm to his people. There were other flaws with the hobbit’s plan though. “There are… problems with your request. It is most likely that our description of the creature will have no meaning to elves. Our cultures are different, and we do not easily share knowledge. It is also likely that they would not offer any information. Our dislike of the elves goes both ways, regardless of what they would have others believe.”

“You think they’d stay silent at risk of the entirety of Erebor?”

Thranduil had watched his race flee into the wild without anything but the singed clothing they wore. They refused to even feed them, and had allowed no access to their land. The men of Laketown had allowed Dale’s inhabitants asylum but there was no rest for the dwarrows.

“I think they would hold councils in secret and only offer us information if we allowed them access to our holes.”

Bilbo dipped his head, frowning in his thought. He couldn’t deny Thorin’s claims. He had watched Lord Elrond do just that. Gandalf had even used the elves predictability to allow the Company to escape. Bilbo would also never deny that Thranduil had only ever looked out for his own ends. They had been fed in the dungeons, and there had been no torture, but they had not been taken proper care of.

They should never have been arrested.

“Gandalf?”

He turned the corner to a darker hall, enjoying the coolness it brought. The deep silence of a mountain, specifically _his_ mountain, was something he cherished. There was nothing else in Middle Earth that allowed him such clarity of thought.

It helped that in her darker corners, it was easier for Bilbo to pretend that Dwalin was not trailing behind. He would walk closer in such places.

“Would be ideal, but he cannot be found. I do not believe he has told us even a tenth of what he knows about the necromancer that had taken residence in Dol Guldur.”

“So he might be occupied for the foreseeable future.”

“The coronation was our best chance at seeing him.”

“I could send word that I want to return home. He might come to escort me. He’d owe me that.”

Alarm surged through Thorin, making his chest feel cold with dread. His skin prickled and his breath nearly faltered. His pace quickened in reaction to his heart, and Bilbo hastened to keep up in the darkening halls. “He’d be cross when he found out it was a rumor but-”

Relief surged through him, only for the dread to remain. It made him pause in his pace, and consider the horrible feeling creeping up his spine. It was kin to something he had felt in the battle, when the dark forces of the necromancer had poured out against them on the field of desolation.

Something evil.

He heard the cracking noise a second before the first rocks started to fall.  “Mazanisad!” (run from danger!) He bellowed as loudly as he could in Dwalin’s general direction before turning to his startled hobbit.

He shoved Bilbo forward until his back was flat against the wall and he pressed his chest against the hobbit’s, curling close so that he covered him with his own body. The falling stone thundered past them, and he grit his jaw as the air whistled around them until a deafening crash sounded and the ground shook.

-[]-[]-[]-

Dwalin had cursed longer and louder than Thorin had heard since he’d nearly been chewed in half by a white warg.

Oin was no better. Balin hit his arm. Fíli simply hugged him while Kíli grabbed both him _and_ Bilbo in a hug.

The collapse-for that was what the tumbling rock had been-had nearly claimed them both. Dwalin claimed that if Thorin had not been pressed so close to Bilbo, he would have been taken over the edge with the rest of the rock.

There weren’t even any innuendos flying about. That alone proved how close his demise had been.

The rocks had not fallen naturally either. There were obvious signs of axe strokes on the stone the rocks had fallen from. Sabotage.

He had hoped they could go at least a year before such things rose. There was no kingdom in Middle Earth, current or past, that had been without at least a few attempts of mutiny. But for the attacks to start so soon… They had barely been in the mountain for three months. Thorin had been king for barely a month.

The guard would have to be increased. Dwalin would take shifts with Bifur, Gloin, Dori, and three of dain’s guards to watch the ‘royal family.’ The seven of them would make certain Fíli, Kíli, and he were accompanied by at least two dwarrows at all time. Bard would need an increase in watch as well. Bain, Sigrid and Tilda would also need guards. The young heirs could not be without protection.  

Kíli had been the first to ask that they be given protection, followed immediately by an agreement from Bofur, Fíli, and Oin.

Nori spent all free time disappearing into Erebor. He styled his hair so that it hung down and had Thorin not spent over a year traveling with the dwarf, he would not have recognized him.

Spymaster indeed.

A week- a horrible, exhaustive, meeting filled week- later, he found himself finally alone. Even if it was in pretend. Dwalin was outside the door, his emotions a constant, reassuring thrum.

That was worrisome. He should not find it soothing to feel someone else's emotions.

He sank to the floor in front of his fire and closed his eyes as the flames warmed him. He allowed his weary head to drop and exhaled loudly, feeling as if he was emptying himself of everything.

More blood had been discovered, and there was now a dwarf missing. There had been mutinous talk among his people. They glared at the men as if they were at fault. Thorin did not know what evil dwelled in the mountain, but it was not a man.

He had been too lax in his fight against it. Too worried about causing a panic. He would find this ‘night demon’ and see it ended.

A knock at the door drew his attention away from his darkening thoughts. He turned his head with little thought. “Enter.”

Bilbo slipped in, Dwalin winking behind him as he shut the door.

Thorin rose to his feet, already feeling lighter in spirit. “I did not expect to see you this evening.”

“Pish-posh” a flap of Bilbo’s hand dismissed that apparently ludicrous idea. “I escaped the meeting an hour ago.” He paused in front of Thorin and tilted his head consideringly. “Actually, I thought I’d beat you here.”

“Dwalin secreted me away. The anger was-”

“Not needed.” Bilbo smiled, and his eyes seemed green and soft. Oddly familiar, as if he had looked at them a hundred thousand times before. It felt as if he had known Bilbo Baggins for far longer than forever sometimes. He pressed forward slowly, cupping Bilbo’s cheeks in his hands and giving him a kiss that would probably be described as sweet at a later time.

It was far easier to show affection than to speak it. Always.

Still, Bilbo seemed to understand the silent message. He pressed up on his tiptoes to return the kiss, and wrapped his arms around Thorin’s chest as well as he could. Thorin’s hands wrapped around Bilbo as well, holding him close and enjoying the warmth.

“I never said thank you.” He murmured when they separated to settle their breaths.

“For what, mizimuh?” He stilled momentarily at the unintended sentiment. It had fallen from his lips remarkably easily. His jewel… he had thought as much of Bilbo often.

Bilbo said nothing about the endearment but his eyes brightened. “For saving me. Pressing me against the wall and shielding me.”

“You have saved my life three times. I am happy to have repaid the favor at least once.” Losing Bilbo in such a manner was unacceptable. The thought of losing Bilbo at all made his breath stop and his blood run cold.

“Wait,” Bilbo’s face scrunched up in a confusion he could not understand, “you’re keeping track?” He sounded on the verge of anger. He certainly stiffened in the embrace. He nodded his head slowly, and Bilbo’s eyebrows dipped down in distaste. “What? Like it’s a score between us?”

“My life does not get-”

“What about Dwalin? Or the rest of the-” Thorin covered Bilbo’s mouth with a finger. His other arm stayed around Bilbo. He was glared at for his lack of subtlety but Bilbo let him speak.

“They are my guard, it is their _duty_ to keep me from harm. I have had numerous attacks on my life since I was born. I must have others to swear loyalty. You had no such oath placed, yet you fearlessly risked yourself to keep me from death.” He dipped his head, shame spreading hot through his body. He had been unworthy of each one. He was unworthy to even hold the hobbit, yet he could not let go. “Three separate times you have saved me.”

“Where are you even getting that number? I saved you once.” His eyes widened in sudden realization and he shook his head vehemently. “No. _No._ That does _not_ count. And you need to add another number to that list. You saved my life with the Trolls.”

“And you saved ours in return.” Bilbo’s brow furrowed even more. His face was rather scrunched up, yet he simply looked fierce. It was hardly fair.

“Then the dragon-”

“Again, you saved our life in return.” Bilbo shook his head, utter disbelief in his eyes.

“That shouldn’t matter. Saving someone-there aren’t different levels to it! You simply do what you have to, because you have to. I’ll not let you die. Not while there is something I can do.”

“The same is true for me.” The hobbit gave his head another little shake.

“Good. Now, as I said, thank you, and do try to keep out of trouble?”

“If you promise to do the same.” He dipped his head graciously, but Bilbo scowled.

“I am not the one who went charging into an orc pack with no back-up.”

How were they still arguing? And how were they arguing when they were still embracing? How had he befuddled their conversation so much? He was a diplomat, he had a silver tongue when it aided him, yet he always seemed to lose it when he was with Bilbo. “That was necessary.”

“How?! How was that necessary?”

“Because I was the only one far enough down the tree to charge. The fire was not working, Azog rode towards us even as we burned. Laying my life between him and my Company was not a choice I had to make.”

“You cannot expect me to beli-”

He released Bilbo and took a step back. The old anger burned beneath his skin. The memory of his grandfather’s head swinging from the vile wretch’s grip. The soulless gaze of the grey eyes that had always inspired him. The anguished cry of his father before the king had disappeared. “Yes, he had massacred half my family, and had seemingly brought my quest to an end. I was fighting for time, not victory. I did not know what the Wizard intended. Had I known Eagles were coming, I would have acted differently.”

“There was no _point_ in the quest without you.”

“Erebor was larger than me! Fíli lived, Kíli lived! Even Daín could have claimed her! The quest was _never_ about me. It was about her!”

“And where would she be without you? You were the only one who cared enough to try.” There were tears in Bilbo’s eyes, and the sight of them shocked him more than anything else.

He forgot Bilbo had been there. He forgot the hobbit knew that none of the other clans would aid him.

“There is nothing as important to me as my kin, my family. Azog had robbed me of a number of them, and I wished to see him suffer. In doing so I could also protect what little remained of my family. I would have rather died fighting than hanging from a tree for dear life. I would not die by that fire.”

“You stubborn, sodding, thick-headed _dwarf.”_ Bilbo growled before grabbing his braids and hauling him down into a kiss that was more of a slam of lips and teeth. “Noble, pig-headed,” more kisses, and Thorin could taste blood, “infuriating, loyal, wonderful dwarf!” He released Thorin’s braids to cup at his jaw instead, standing on his tip toes to press as close as he could. The hobbit’s anger seemed to have turned into a fiery passion, and it now burned through Thorin.

He lifted Bilbo up, tired of bending, and straightened. Bilbo squeaked in surprise but wrapped his legs around Thorin’s waist with no further prodding or complaint. He kissed Bilbo and burned to press him against something so he could truly ravish him. He was torn between using the wall or bed. The bed was closer, so it won the battle.

He laid the hobbit out flat on the bed and shucked his fur-lined surcoat off before making to join his hobbit on the bed.

He was stopped by Bilbo’s hand on his chest. The hobbit pushed him back, eyes dark and lips parted to suck in air. He slipped off the bed easily and pulled Thorin around until he was seated on the bed. Bilbo then dropped to his knees and went to work at the fastenings on Thorin’s boots.

He took a moment to breath and to try and clear his burning head. He’d managed not to panic when Bilbo had pulled back and he felt absurdly proud of that fact.

“I”, Bilbo confessed with a determined glint in his eyes as he tugged the last boot off Thorin’s foot, “have wanted to do that since we met.” His hands trailed up Thorin’s heel, over his ankle, and under his breeches to tease at the skin of his calf.

“Were my shoes so offensive?” He felt breathless, and wanted nothing more than to pull Bilbo back up beside him.

“Yes. How do your feet breathe? I’d feel positively trapped.” He pushed up while he spoke, sliding his hands up Thorin’s legs until they were settled on his thighs and Bilbo’s chest was against his legs. “Offense aside,” Bilbo continued, standing to his feet and crawling up on the bed beside Thorin, “you should never wear shoes in bed.” He ran his hand up Thorin’s chest and pushed back until he was flat on his back with Bilbo hovering over him. His hair fell in golden ringlets, glistening in the light and calling Thorin to bury his hand in them. He did as he desired, threading his fingers through the soft strands over and over while Bilbo kissed him. It was long enough to braid, and Thorin felt a desperate urge to do so. He wanted to weave the golden hairs into a complicated plate, and mark it off with his own bead. He wanted to claim Bilbo as his own before all of Erebor.

“Please,” he mumbled against Bilbo’s lips, his chest burning with want, “please…”

“Anything.” Bilbo replied, tightening his grip on Thorin’s shoulders, “Anything at all.”

He wove the braid as they kissed, his fingers finally steady in the soft hair.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Surprisingly few people seemed to notice Thorin’s bead shining in Bilbo’s hair. Which was odd because it was all Thorin was able to notice when Bilbo was near to him. The braid was nothing special, though it looked regal in the silky curls, but the bead was a bit of a statement. It certainly marked Bilbo as having Thorin’s attention, if nothing else. It wasn’t a statement of courtship, or betrothal, but it was enough for now.

He could feel smug amusement from the company any time they were both together.

The searches were turning up nothing. One lot of guards thought they saw something near the ceiling, but they were unable to catch it.

The men began to increase their own supply of the watch. Thorin took a shift with Dwalin every two nights.

They wandered the halls with other dwarrows, seeking the secrets of Erebor, but never finding.

And still the blood appeared in the unsearched halls.

They freed their way to the library with great caution. The archers were ever ready, and the miners never worked without a full guard. The search for the missing dwarf was never ending.

He feared for his Company, and his hobbit.  

“Well, we know that it, whatever it is, can climb.”

“That is hardly useful.” Thorin felt compelled to point out. He was tired of being told what was obvious, even if there was nothing else to say. Everyone else was impatient as well, and it made his jaw clench in irritation. He relaxed it forcibly and exhaled.

“I’ve got it!” Bilbo burst into the council chambers waving a letter in the air with a large grin that made his heart jump in his chest.

“Got what?” Ori asked as he shut the door again. Bilbo turned towards him, eyes wide with excitement and hope. His glow was as bright as his eyes, lovely and inviting. Almost as bright as the torchlight that glistened in his new bead. There was no way he could look at anything else.

That was _his_ bead in _Bilbo’s_ hair. He’d braided it with his own hands and Bilbo had allowed him to do so.

“A letter?”

“From Gandalf?” Surprise shot around him, which he ignored as he held Bilbo’s gaze. The hobbit nodded as he opened the letter and pulled a small bit of paper out. His eyes scanned over it eagerly and Thorin found himself sitting taller as Bilbo’s expression shifted from glee to disbelief.

He hadn’t expected any aid from the letter. He knew how the Wizard reacted. He would let nothing about what he knew slip. If they were in danger he’d come to them, otherwise he’d tell them to go to the elves.

With that knowledge he found himself watching, helplessly amused, as Bilbo actually turned the letter over in his hands. The hobbit had clearly held high hopes. “Well?”

“That can _not_ be it. There has to be something else. Maybe invisible ink?”

“What does it say?” Balin nearly shouted. Thorin noticed how tightly his hands were clenching the table and realized he hadn’t even noticed the tension in his chest from the dwarf. He’d been too intent on his study of his hobbit.

_“I am coming with all haste. Do not go into the lower levels. There are older and more foul things than goblins in the deep places of the world.”_

“Not even a mention of Men of Shadow?” Bilbo passed Ori the parchment instead of actually answering. Ori turned it over in his hands, his frown deepening as he did so.

“Did he forget almost all of us are from the line of Durin? We know about the fouler things?”

“It’s as if he didn’t even bother to read my letter. He certainly shouldn’t have bothered with that reply. Older and more foul. Honestly.” Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms over his chest in distaste as he crossed the hall. He flopped into the chair beside Thorin dramatically and scowled at him. “Stop smirking. It was worth a shot. At least he is coming now.”

He hadn’t even realized he was smirking. He smoothed the expression and had to work to keep it away when Bilbo simply scowled. “Yes, alright. You were right. He remained secretive. I’m blaming it on you.”

“It is hardly my fault. I don’t particularly recall him telling you anything more than me.”

“Yes but he actually liked me.”

That was hard to argue against, but something Thorin would not discuss here. If Gandalf had truly liked Bilbo, he would not have bid him come on so dangerous a quest. He would not have encouraged him to take on a dragon.

No, he did not know what all Gandalf had planned, but friendship had not had a part in it. Chance had not brought the wizard to Thorin, and chance had not brought them to Bag End. Gandalf had planned it all. Thorin would not be convinced otherwise. It had suited his ends, so he did not question it at the time. If he saw the Wizard now? He would have a fair few words for him.

A hand grabbed his under the table and gave a little tug. Bilbo was listening to whatever it was that Balin was saying, but his thumb stroked the back of Thorin’s hand even though he wasn’t looking at him. He became aware suddenly, of all the despair and fear that the other dwarrows were sending at him, and that it was affecting his own mood. He relaxed in his chair and gave Bilbo’s hand a small squeeze in return.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now.

-[]-[]-[]-

Though it was hardly surprising to see Bofur and Nori show at the evening meal with braids and beads of betrothal, it was enjoyable nonetheless.

The two dwarrows walked into the hall they always ate in without a word, and it had taken a few minutes for anyone to catch on. Dori was the first to notice, and then everyone did. Bofur’s happy laughter could be heard from anywhere in the hall, and Dori’s shriek of utter surprise made everyone look up. The dwarf barreled into Nori (who looked vaguely terrified) and embraced him.

“Congratulations, laddie!” Dwalin called from the table by Thorin’s side with Ori sitting near. He took the moment of Dori’s distraction to squeeze Ori’s hand. It was a remarkably affectionate gesture for the dwarf. He had never seen Dwalin so open in his care. He only ever showed any sort of affection (if you could even call it that) in private.

Ori beamed back at him and scooted a touch closer. His arm brushed against Dwalin’s but he made no further contact. He seemed content with only that.

Bilbo pushed his way through the crowd of the company and went to Bofur with a long bundle wrapped in bright paper. He passed it to the dwarf and grinned mischievously in a way that made Thorin warm and annoyed at himself.

“What’s this for?” Bofur asked as he picked at the string holding the package shut. Dori released Nori as Bilbo bounced on his heels. He had his hands clasped behind his back and the mischievous smile got all the larger. Thorin made his way over as they spoke, Dwalin and Ori beside him.

“Hobbits give gifts to the happy couple whenever an engagement is announced. I’ve expected this for a long while, so I’ve been keeping it here.” Bofur nodded his head in acceptance of that as he discarded the string and pushed the paper open. He considered the object for a moment before he pulled a mallet out.

“Croquet?” Bofur asked with a frown as he turned the mallet over in his hands. Bilbo was doing a very poor job of hiding a smile. Nori was radiating joy that was making it difficult for Thorin to remain stoic and detached.

“What’s the matter?” Bilbo asked, his grin breaking loose. Thorin ignored the thump his heart gave at the sight of it. “Don’t you have the balls for it?”

Nori’s cackle was loud and nearly drowned out the end of Bilbo’s question. Bofur blinked once in confusion, and then a wave of amusement and mirth hit Thorin as the dwarf let out a honking laugh that had the rest of the company cracking up. Thorin allowed himself a small smile and felt almost dizzy with a rush of gratitude that was nobodies but his own. They had made it here despite all attempts to make certain they didn’t.

His company could laugh together in their _home_.

It was strange how suddenly that fact would hit him, and invariably leave him breathless with gratitude in its wake.

“In all seriousness,” Bilbo’s hand landed on Bofur’s arm, a soft smile on his lips and fondness obvious in his eyes. He had seen that look late at night, and it made a hot jealousy churn in his stomach to see it directed at someone else. He had to exhale slowly to control it. “I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do.” Bofur didn’t waste a moment to bring the hobbit in a tight embrace. He tucked him close, mumbling something under his breath that had Bilbo squeezing him back.

Thorin turned away so no one would see his crumbling control.

 _All the luck in the world._ He could remember it so very clearly. Bilbo’s frustrated and hurt face as Bofur spoke to him in a quiet and urgent voice. The tears that had shone in Bilbo’s blue eyes but were never allowed to fall. Tears that Thorin had caused. Tears he had been glad of. Tears that meant Bilbo would return to Rivendell and be safe there.

He could not lose control, not here and not now. He had to master his heart.

Curse it all, this is why he denied emotions! They ran away and made everything complicated. They took away control and made one far more vulnerable. They made him long for things that couldn’t be, and ache for the weakness of wrapping himself in Bilbo’s arm.

He swallowed thickly, clenched his fist, and pushed them away. He cleared his mind of any thought, and his face of any expression before turning back to the company. They were all talking at once, happiness, thick and almost sickening, pouring off each one.

Yet it did nothing to lighten the dark churn of his emotions.

He patted both dwarrows on the arm and congratulated them as sincerely as he could. He felt Bilbo watching him, but he avoided meeting the hobbit’s eyes as he slipped back into the shadows to continue watching.

Ori and Dori both had their brother in an embrace and he was only putting up a token effort to escape them. Bofur was smiling so widely it made Thorin’s cheeks ache in sympathy, and he was being lifted by his own brother while his cousin laughed loud and unrestrained.

Thorin watched the display from his corner and tried not to acknowledge the churning in his own stomach. He wasn’t sure who or what it was he envied more. Not that he expected to be lifted or hugged… he simply couldn’t remember the last time he’d expressed that sort of unhindered joy. He’d certainly never shared in it with another.

He had to swallow his thoughts away as though they were bile. Life was not fair, and never would be. It was not a new lesson.

They still, like bile, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He swallowed that away as well and exhaled slowly. Sorrow had replaced the irritation, and ang-jealousy.

He was apparently not to find any peace tonight.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo was laying in his bed. He had a fur wrapped around his bare shoulders, and his feet peaked out from underneath another one. He was reclined against the pillow Thorin slept with every night, and there was a book on trade agreements open on his lap.

It took Thorin several long moments of simply staring to understand what he was seeing, and several more to do anything but stare at it.

Bilbo looked up when he finally managed to make his feet shuffle forward, and smiled as breathtakingly as always. “I was hoping you’d be by soon.”

He would have been by far sooner had he know what waited in his room.

Bilbo slipped easily from the bed, clothed in _nothing_ but his smalls, and went straight to Thorin. He pulled the crown off his head and placed it on the table while he pressed up on his tip toes to undo the more complicate beads and clasps that kept his hair back while he served in court. It marked him as a warrior king, but there was nothing so freeing as having his hair let down.

Bilbo removed all his jewelry and clothes with soft touches and long glances that left Thorin utterly defenseless.

“You were tense this evening.” It wasn’t an accusation, far from it, but it was a question. One he actually wanted to answer.

“My thoughts took a dark turn.” Bilbo nodded his head in silent acknowledgment and stepped closer, chest to chest. His hand cupped Thorin’s cheek and he slid up to his tip-toes for a little extra height before kissing Thorin softly. Welcoming and warm.

He wasn’t quite certain how they made it back to the bed, only that they did so and he now had Bilbo spread out on top of his furs. Bilbo underneath him, kiss-swollen lips, wild hair, golden limbs, and dark eyes. Gloriously soft and hard and happy to be with _Thorin_. His glow was warm around Thorin, wrapping him up in it’s green light. Sinking into his very skin and trying to rid him of any previous darkness.

He dipped his head down, brushing Bilbo’s cheek with his nose and marveling at the softness of it. “Lakhdur mizimuh.” (My jewel of light.) He murmured into the warm skin, unable to stop the silly sentiment. The beatific smile Bilbo flashed at his quiet words was suddenly, and irrevocably, his favorite. The hobbit’s entire face lit up like the jewel Thorin had just named him, and it was impossible to not want him.

He dropped his weight onto Bilbo, bracing himself on one arm and using the other to explore all the revealed skin. He touched with long strokes, learning what made Bilbo shudder most, which spots made him bite his lip, which areas had him moaning. Valuable information he knew he would never forget. Facts that would occur to him at later times and leave him utterly breathless in the wake of this moment.

And Bilbo did the same.

Their smalls were discarded without care for where they ended up. Bilbo pressed up into him like a cat searching for a pet, and then the hobbit’s small hands were sliding up his chest. He could feel the hobbit’s interest warm and solid against his thigh, proof that they were here and this was very real.

“May I?” Bilbo’s hand hovered over his scar, the mark of his near death and the madness that had consumed him. He gave his head a small nod, fearful suddenly.

He was horribly disfigured there. Ugly by most standards. Dwarrows would have found it admirable, proof of  overcoming a near impossible obstacle.

But Bilbo might find it as nothing more than a reminder of what Thorin had nearly done. Hideous in content and appearance.

Bilbo’s eyes trained on the scar as he ran his fingertips over it. It was the lightest of touches, barely feelable beneath all the mangled tissue of the healed wound. Bilbo had given it the lightest of strokes prior to this, but he always seemed to avoid direct touch.

There was no disgust on his face. Fear perhaps, but not disgust.

The hobbit surged up on his elbow, wrapping one hand around Thorin’s neck, and pulled him into a demanding, possessive kiss that had him gripping the fur and Bilbo’s hip. He let Bilbo have the control while his mind quietly reeled. Bilbo took everything he gave, and tangled his hand in Thorin’s hair, pulling him where he wanted him to go.

When Bilbo finally released him for air, he could hardly breathe past the fire raging in his chest. The constant burn around his heart that Bilbo caused had lit into a true inferno and wished to claim all that he was in its wake.

His hand hovered over Bilbo’s hip, close to the hobbit’s interest. There would be no going back from this. He would never look elsewhere, and never crave another as he craved Bilbo. No other could relieve him of the ache he would have for Bilbo.

“May I?” Bilbo nodded his head frantically, his kiss-stung lips open and panting for air.

“Anything you want. I’m yours.” That made the warmth explode all the hotter, and he had to kiss. Had to claim Bilbo’s lips as he dropped closer to the hobbit. He wrapped a hand around Bilbo’s erection, still hard and warm despite the hand Bilbo still had on his scarred chest.

He gave the hobbit slow pulls, memorizing the way Bilbo shuddered at each stroke and pressed up into him. Memorized the way his muscles trembled and his toes curled into the fur. Memorized the flush of his cheeks and the sound of his gasping breaths.

Once he was satisfied with his knowledge he stretched out over Bilbo and took both of their erections in his hand. Bilbo cried out at the action and arched his back. The noise made Thorin’s mind blank for a long moment.

He set up a steady rhythm and focused on tasting Bilbo’s tempting neck. The skin was warm and slightly salty, perfect under his lips. Possessiveness surged through him when Bilbo moaned at the action, and he could not have stopped himself from leaving a mark even if they were under attack.

He thrust harder into the warmth of his fist and held their erections tighter as he did so. He needed more, wanted it more than he wanted his next breath. Bilbo glistened with sweat, his head tossed back and curls shining as he panted. He was debauched and glorious in such a state, but Thorin still wanted more. He wanted to hear the hobbit screaming out for him. He wanted to replace all the dark memories with moments like this. He wanted  to lose himself in Bilbo and the light of his presence.

He wanted to take what was freely given. He wanted to give all of himself, and that was _terrifying_.

Bilbo’s hand grabbed his shoulder while the other continued to pull his hair. He could feel the bite of nails, and that combined with the feel of Bilbo’s leg curling higher on his hip made the warmth flooding his veins seem to grow all the more molten.

“Thorin,” the gasp was quiet, but all the more intense for being so. Bilbo’s eyes were green, and endlessly dark as they peered up at him. He wanted to study them, to memorize the colors present in their depths until he could name each shade. “ _Thorin_.”

It was too much, and still not nearly enough.

The hand on his shoulder grasped all the harder as Bilbo added and extra roll of his hips to each joined thrust. Light exploded behind Thorin’s eyes and he had to call on restraint he’d been unaware he had to keep from reaching his end. He dropped his head instead and found Bilbo’s lips in a messy kiss that was more teeth and tongue than their earlier shared kisses had been. He could feel his hobbit gasping into the kiss with each snap of his hips and it drove him further into the sharpening ecstasy that was twisting his stomach.

Bilbo, his beautiful Bilbo who had sought him out and kept seeking. Who was panting out feverish breathes and clinging to him.

Bilbo who tossed his head back and cried out _Thorin’s_ name as he came.

Bilbo who he could do nothing but follow into ecstasy.

Bilbo who he loved.


	13. Chapter 13

He had never partook in post coital cuddles before. His previous partners had always been left before bed. He was not giving them his heart, and thus there was no reason to linger.

He couldn’t imagine leaving now. Not when Bilbo was warm, soft, and somehow still smelled of honey and apples. He had left the hobbit’s side only to see them marginally cleaned before he joined the Burglar under the cover of the furs and quilt.

Now he had a hobbit curled up at his side with a leg lazily thrown over his. Bilbo’s head was resting on his shoulder, and his arm was draped over Thorin’s chest, holding him close. He even seemed to welcome the arm Thorin had unthinkingly wrapped around his shoulders.

Shouldn’t it feel strange? They had not really talked. He certainly hadn’t. Permission had been given, and he had run with it before he’d fully known what he was about.

Yet the way Bilbo slid his leg up Thorin’s was anything but strange.

The burning in his chest had surged to a painful intensity in the final moments before settling into a pleasant warmth that he could feel through his entire body. It was like the slight burn of a good ale in front of a roaring fire on a cold winter’s night.

“Bilbo?” His voice was low, quiet in the still air. The hobbit immediately turned towards him with a smile. His curls spreading out over the pillow like liquid gold as he moved. A halo of colors and warmth and beauty.

“Yes?”

“Why did you come to me when you did? What made you choose that night?” Bilbo considered him for a mere moment before pushing up on the bed to look down at him. His eyes reflected the light of the dying fire and it made him strangely think of the warmth of summer.

He had not meant to speak. He seemed unable to control his tongue around the hobbit that had his heart.

“I should have thought it obvious. You said I had only to ask for my heart’s desire. That was what my heart desired. So, I gathered my hobbit courage and I asked for it.” He shrugged his shoulder and the blanket slipped off his shoulder, revealing soft, warm skin. “I didn’t expect to get anything else.”

There was nothing Thorin could do but pull him back to the bed and his arms. Bilbo went without resistance, curling back into his spot. He laid back as well, his eyes trained on the carved ceiling, and could not get rid of the warmth in his chest, or the desire that burned along his veins.

He never failed to deny Bilbo the credit he deserved. The hobbit was braver than him. Even now he couldn’t speak what was on his heart.

“Will you stay the night?”

“If you don’t mind.” How could he mind this? How could he possibly mind the warmth and comfort of having Bilbo near?

“You may stay whenever you wish for however long you may wish.” He could imagine the glowing lady laughing at him as Bilbo nuzzled into him.

And he simply didn’t care. His bead hung in Bilbo’s hair. The hobbit was sleeping in his bed and they were laying together.

He had no memory of falling asleep. One moment he was basking in the warmth and the next a kiss was being brushed to his nose of all things. He blinked awake against the bright shine of morning and caught a glimpse of bronze curls before they darted away.

Bilbo sat up, and pushed the covers away while Thorin tried to focus his eyes and thoughts. The hobbit was deliciously tousled and sleepy looking. He wanted to grab him and haul him right back into the furs.

“Good morning, Majesty.” Bilbo murmured, looking down and noting that he was awake. “It is a lovely morning, and I, unfortunately, have to go. I’m on the roster to aid Bomber with feeding everyone breakfast.”

His lips dipped down in a frown before he could stop them. Bilbo’s eyes crinkled at the corner at the sight of his displeasure and the hobbit smiled breathtakingly. He brushed his nose against Thorin’s cheek and sat back up. “Someday I’ll steal you away for a private breakfast.” Bilbo pressed a darting kiss to his lips before slipping from the bed with a stretch and tired hum. “I’ll see you later.” He said while he pulled his button up shirt from the ground. Thorin watched as he left, trying to understand the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. It had no cause to be there, but was there all the same.

“At council.” The words were more urgent than they needed to be.

Bilbo nodded and tugged his breeches on. He strode back towards the bed as he pulled his suspenders up and pressed another, slower, kiss to Thorin’s lips that did a decent job of waking him up. “I love you.” He said with a small smile before turning and strolling out of the room as if it were any other morning.

Thorin could not find it in his chest to breathe.

He climbed out of the bed in an utter daze and clothed himself without knowing what he picked up. He pulled his armor on from years of practice, and fastened his sword out of muscle memory.

It wasn’t until he exited his room to literally walk into Dwalin that he snapped out of his strange daze.

“Morning.” Dwalin greeted with an appraising glance. His eyes ran over Thorin’s body, taking in his apparel and ill-tended hair. “Sleep well then?”

The gleeful amusement that poured off of him was not needed, and Thorin’s glare did absolutely nothing to dampen it. “We’re headed to the lower mines.” He snapped the words more harshly than he needed to but it still didn’t dampen Dwalin’s mood. His hair was braided differently than normal, and a red mark could be seen just peeking out from under his collar.

Ori. Thorin would not have expected it from the young dwarf. Still, there was far more to him than met the eye. He was exceptionally adept with his slingshot, Dwalin’s war hammer, and battle axe.

“Busy day.”

“We do not know when Gandalf will arrive, nor can we wait for his arrival.”

“Ori requested a meeting with you. He believes he might have found something of significance.” The amusement melted away and Thorin found himself tensing in worry before he recognized it as Dwalin’s.

Not good news then. “Is he in the library?”

Dwalin nodded his head and a brief surge of fondness made his glow brighter in the dark hall. “Then we’ll see him before we head down.” Any information for what they were facing would be most welcome.

-[]-[]-[]-

A old book with dust soaked pages was pushed into his hand with no ceremony. The words were written in khuzdul, and the runes had nearly eaten through the page. A book from the early third age then. They had used a more harmful ink at that time.

He glanced up to see Ori staring at the page. “Third paragraph down, second sentence.”

His eyes scanned the page to the indicated section. Two words jumped out. _Id-damâm ushlak_.

The Blood Drinker. Three words that swam around in his head, ancient with memory and heavy with foreboding. He knew them, but he could not pull out their meaning.

“Bilbo was right, the epithet has changed.” Ori said in a slow, quiet voice that seemed as ancient as the book. “They haven’t been called a ‘Night-Demon’ or ‘man of shadow’ since the early second-age. They’re more commonly known as a Vampyre.”

The book suddenly felt extremely heavy, and oddly fragile, in his hands. He could no longer decipher the runes on its ancient pages. They simply swam together in an illegible sea of geometric shapes. Their meaning hidden from him and his frozen mind.

 _Blood drinker_. He had heard stories when he was younger. Ages ago, before Smaug, before the break in friendship with Thranduil. There had been rumors of them haunting dark places. A few were even suspected to have been  been killed in Moria before she was lost to the orcs and Balrog.

Did such evil really live in his mountain? Were the dark blood-drinkers climbing his walls? It would explain the blood found on the stone…

A creature of Morgoth, something ancient in its evil, living in his home. The evil would be trying to defile her sacred stone and make it un-livable _again_.

He shut the book and passed it back to Ori while stepping back. His hand went to Orcrist on age-old instinct, and panic churned in his gut. It was a physical sensation, the panic, and it felt as oppressive as a wound. All eyes were on him. All the Company was looking at him with expectation. They were waiting for him to lead them as he had through the entirety of the quest. Their expectation was nearly suffocating. They were asking him to fight a demon, to rid their home of something that was created to install terror and inflict illness on all who crossed its path. A creature that was an abomination.

The panic flowed through his veins, fast and hot and consuming until his blood roared in his ears.

He was their king. He couldn’t let panic-especially not their panic- consume him. He had to be above it all.

“Warn the guard. Send another letter to Gandalf, and,” he swallowed, stealing himself against the fear and panic of the others. “write to Lord Elrond as well.” He dropped his gaze to the book, accepting the shock and distaste from their emotions. His own heart raced from the force of it, and his hands felt clammy and shaky. “We will need aid.”

A Blood Drinker had not been seen in several hundred years. They would need to search for how such things were killed. Depending on how soon Gandalf arrived, he might be able to aid them. They could not depend on that though. They had to be ready for any eventuality.

"Balin, announce that none may enter the lower levels without leave until the creature is caught and destroyed." He turned to his nephew and heir, his stance rigid with the second hand worry. "Fili, make certain Bard knows what has passed."

Fili gave his head short, sharp nod that relayed none of the worry he felt. Had Thorin not been able to feel his worry, he would not have known what he thought. It made him proud. Proud that his nephew still felt worry, and proud that the dwarf did not let others know he was worried. "Yes, Uncle."

"Come, Dwalin. Let us make our rounds." He wanted nothing more than to collapse and wrap himself in a blanket until the numbing panic was gone.

He rather hated the green-glowing and interfering lady, whoever she was.

-[]-[]-[]-

The halls were dark and the shadows that decorated them seemed endless. Sounds echoed everywhere, and the ceiling seemed full of promising shapes. The guards were all terrified, though they let nothing on.

Fear was far worse than other emotions. Every time someone felt fear it cut through his gut like a knife. He had always had a hold of his fear, and had rarely _truly_ felt it. He had never feared death, and he had lost most of what he held dear at a young age. He was more accustomed to worry than fear. He had found neither particularly useful, and tended to push both away. On the occasions he had truly felt fear he had acknowledged the emotion, and then ignored it. It did nothing to aid against whatever was feared, and could only hinder him.

He couldn’t push the fear of others away. It cut through his barriers and seemed to take root in his very soul until he wanted to tremble with it.

Nothing real was spotted, and he was glad when their round was finally finished. They retreated to the upper levels as the guard changed, Dwalin silent and grim at his side.

He met with Bard who was as wary as him about the news of what was in their lower halls. Men knew nothing more than dwarrows. That the creature would be large, bat-like, and have the face of a human. It could change its shape to a pure bat according to legend, but such things could not be verified.

Thousands of bats had made their home in Erebor. She had vast chambers, some of which had never been discovered, and Smaug had not scared the majority of vermin out. They nested everywhere. If it could change into one, their attempts to locate it would essentially be doomed.

He retired to his room for dinner, and found Bilbo waiting on him. The hobbit had the table set with bread and soup, and it smelled good enough to make his mouth water.

He closed the door to his room with no care that Dwalin snickered at him. He slid the lock into its place and strode across the room with purposeful steps until he was in front of the table. Bilbo emerged from the connected bedroom with an armful of furs and promptly beamed.

“Good! I hoped it was you.” He draped the furs onto the table and set about removing the crown and jewelry that court demanded from Thorin. His hands worked quick and sure, and Thorin found himself relieved of the various gems and metals weight after very few moments. “Ori told me what he had found. I-” his hands stalled on the clasp that held Thorin’s cloak shut, and he saw them tremble. He grasped Bilbo’s hands in his own and helped them to unfasten his cloak. Bilbo wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Mizimuh?” (My jewel)

Bilbo swallowed and gripped the fabric more tightly. He guided it off Thorin’s shoulders and deposited it on a spare chair before finally meeting his eyes. “I heard you still continued with your rounds.”

That was gratifying. Knowing Bilbo feared for his safety-despite how well he could care for himself-was incredible to hear. It warmed his chest and made him feel young again.

He was cared for.

“And I will continue to go on rounds. I can ask no other to do so if I am unwilling. I will not go needlessly into danger, do not fret.” He turned his hands around and clasped Bilbo’s with them. Bilbo looked up at him, and he found himself objecting to silence at that moment. “Dinner smells delicious.”

Bilbo smiled and gave his head a stiff nod. He seemed to steel himself as he did so. “I couldn’t make you breakfast, so I decided dinner would have to suffice.” He freed his hands and turned towards the table. He grabbed the furs from the table and lied them in front of the fire. “I thought we might take desert in front of the fire.”

Thorin nodded his head in agreement and put his jewels away in a chest before joining Bilbo at the table. They were seated next to each other instead of across, and it made the meal far more intimate. The conversation was pleasant and easy and flowed readily with only calm silences. He felt himself unwind as he partook of the meat soup and the warmth of it and Bilbo’s presence soothed his frayed nerves. The knot of tension he’d born from the earlier panic and fear of the tunnels was all but gone by the time he finished his meal.

He allowed Bilbo to lead him to the fire front where they wrapped themselves in the furs and ate candied fruit. He hadn’t been aware that there were any to be had in the kingdom, but he knew better than to question the successfulness of a hungry hobbit.

Bilbo playfully licked the sugar from his fingertips and that led to more enjoyable activities until Thorin lost all his clothes but his braies.

He laid Bilbo out on the furs and reclined at his side, propped on an arm. He pressed slow kisses to the hobbit’s sugar coated lips and explored the skin of his neck and throat. He nudged the mark he’d left on Bilbo’s clavicle with his nose, and earned a delicious shiver from Bilbo.

“You’re always warm,” Bilbo murmured as his hand slid up Thorin’s side. “Like a furnace. Are all dwarrows like that?”

He nipped the mark without quite meaning to, and earned a surprised squeak from Bilbo. He would not have the hobbit speaking of others while he tended to him. “We are similar to the forges we work.”

“I’ll have to take your word on that.” The hobbit gasped and arched up into Thorin as the dwarf slid his thigh between the hobbit’s legs. Heat curled tightly in his stomach, longing for so much more.

There simply wasn’t time.

He pulled away with regret and pressed three swift, teasing kisses to Bilbo’s lips. “I am late to meet with Balin.”

Bilbo gaped at him for a solid ten seconds before smacking his chest and pushing him away. “You prat!” He struggled up right while Thorin sat back. He raised an eyebrow, amused at the show and warm with desire. “Yes, royal prat! You could have told me before you had my shirt off.”

“Why would I do such a thing?” He ran his finger along the lines of Bilbo’s collar bones. It made the hobbit shiver.

“None of that. Up. Where did your shirt get to?” Thorin stood to fetch his tunic, pulling it on with a smile he couldn’t quite seem to get rid of.

“You’re lucky I love you, you giant prat.”

He stilled in tugging his belt back on. His hands were entirely unsteady and he half imagined he swayed where he stood.

He thought he had dreamed Bilbo’s words that morning.

Bilbo laughed, loudly and suddenly. “You ridiculous dwarf.” He said, his smile helpless and large. It made Thorin’s stomach flip again. “I know you won’t say it back, and I don’t need you to. I trust you.” He stood up swiftly, his eyes bright in the fire light. “The whole lot of you are emotionally stunted by hobbit standards. We all wear our hearts on our sleeves for the world to see. It’s exhausting to even try to pretend anything else.” He pressed his head against Thorin’s shoulder, still chuckling quietly. “Though to be so emotionally quiet, you lot are also quite dramatic. More than elves even.”

That was horribly insulting. And not at all the reason he had frozen.

Bilbo stepped closer and threaded their fingers together. Small points of contact, but utterly unable to be ignored. Enough that it distracted him from the rude words. “I did this rather improperly, didn’t I? I never made my intentions clear by dwarf standards, I suppose. Hobbits are rather a different kettle of fish from you lot. We don’t just have casual flings. We offer ourselves to the ones we love and if our affection is returned, we tend to stay together for life. Our courtships are made of three parts. First, I offer you myself.”

He stepped onto his tip toes for extra height and pressed the softest of kisses to Thorin’s stunned lips. He stepped back and down, still keeping their hands together. “Second, I offer you the comforts of my house and home, as is only right for hobbits.”

He stared straight at Bilbo without changing his expression. Even his sister had always stated it was impossible to read if he did not wish it to be read.

“The comforts of your house and home?” He frowned, trying to hide the strange twist of his stomach Bilbo brought. He was loved, _loved_ , by this remarkable creature.

Bilbo’s smile was utterly fond as he nodded his head.“Yes. Warmth, good food, good company, and good harmony.” He swallowed thickly with a throat that felt closed.

“The third?” His voice was hoarse and gave him away, even if his expression didn’t.

“My heart and life.” He lifted Thorin’s hands to his mouth as he spoke. His eyes peered up at Thorin as he brought them to his lips. He placed a reverential kiss against the knuckles of both hands before releasing them and stepping back. He hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and took another step back. “Think on it, my King.”

And then he disappeared and was gone. He left Thorin with his heart pounding and his mind reeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been interested in the vampires and werewolves of Tolkien's extraordinary world. This was really just an excuse to play with one of them ;)


	14. Chapter 14

The news of what lived in the lower halls was spread through the entire kingdom by the next morning, and he had no idea who had spread such information.

By the time he made it to the lower gates for inspection, he was nearly hyperventilating from second-hand fear. Dwalin forced the crowds apart and more or less dragged him through them until he found an unoccupied chamber.  Thorin promptly braced himself against the wall and exhaled slowly.

His body did not feel like his own anymore.

Every moment it was pushed by endless fears, none of which were his. It was riddled with panic, and forced into worry it should not feel. How could he be expected to lead any people when he could not keep his thoughts clear.

He rolled over and pressed his back to the wall. He tilted his head back and glared at the ceiling as his legs slowly regained a small measure of strength.

Dwalin watched him without saying a word. The guard was eternally present-had been since Thorin's birth. He'd been a silent companion to Thorin through every loss and every victory. He rarely spoke when it wasn't needed. He was quick to point out those he didn't trust, and slow to trust anyone he thought unworthy. He had been Thorin's companion through every danger. It was only fitting that he saw him in such a pathetic state. He would trust no one else, save his nephews and Balin.

Finally the silence became too much and he leveled his gaze on Dwalin. His old friend huffed in mild amusement. “Go ahead and rant.” He said with a wave of his hand. “I can tell you want to and no one is here to care.”

He considered Dwalin for a long moment. There was no judgement in his friend’s eyes, simply amusement and empathy. He truly didn’t think less of Thorin for his wavering control. He was willing to hear the complaints even if there was nothing to be done about them.

So he would complain. If only for a moment. “Can none in this damn mountain control what they feel?”

Amusement made Dwalin’s glow brighter, and warm against Thorin. He enjoyed the feel of it, even if it was aimed at him. It was still far more soothing than the other emotions had been.

Dwalin crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall opposite Thorin. “I’m actually surprised you managed to voice all your irritations in that short of a sentence.”

“That was the only way to express them.” He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. Mahal, he was so very tired. “I do not understand why I’m not yet free.”

“I agree.” He pried one eye open to see that Dwalin was studying him frankly. The dwarf guard shrugged one fur covered shoulder. “It’s not a hard guess. You were saved while everyone was gone, but the last person you saw was the hobbit. He fled your tent in tears. He told Ori what you said, and Ori in turn told me.”

“So?” He was distinctly uncomfortable with the conversation. He was comfortable around Dwalin -they had seen each other in every imaginable circumstance-but he did not want to know what the dwarf thought of his inability to tell Bilbo how much he was on his heart in his final moments. Even Dwalin had been capable of doing that. He'd told Ori of his admiration before the battle had even begun. 

“So, you didn’t tell him the truth. Then low and behold, your suddenly cursed to feel and see other peoples emotions.” He shrugged again, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Seems to me you pissed off the wrong lady. She’s a romantic.”

He glared to let Dwalin know he wasn’t amused.

“She’d been watching you two for a while, apparently. Still, you’re together now. Bilbo has your bead in his hair even. Can’t imagine why that’s not enough.”

If they were being candid, he might a well be honest. “It was not just Bilbo. She wanted me to admit my heart to everyone. She was enraged that I had never spoken of love. I gave advice to my nephews, thanked Óin, and told Bilbo that I was wrong. It was not enough in her eyes.”

Dwalin gave his head a shake that seemed to say ‘women.’ Thorin felt it was wise that he didn’t voice such a thought. The glowing woman was likely to appear and make Dwalin’s life a living torture. She didn’t seem the type to take lightly to taunting.

“And I am satisfied with your treatment of your family. You have proven to them that they are in your heart.”

The irritatingly familiar voice came from the right, and made Thorin stiffen all over. Dwalin jumped forward, hauling his battle axe free.

“Maiklif!” He cursed with a snarl. The Lady, dressed in a yellow gown with silver and green trim, held up a thin hand. Dwalin froze on the spot.

Thorin pushed off the wall and stepped in front of Dwalin. The guard still didn’t move. He did not know what the glowing lady was capable of, but he would not allow his friend to be harmed while he could still move. “Green Lady.” He dipped his head slightly in recognition of her. He did not know who she was, or what she truly wanted, but he did not think her evil. Not after the malice he had felt from the Blood Drinker.

Evil could apparently not hide its foulness.

“Oakenshield.” Her lips quirked up as she gave the title. Though why it would amuse her, Thorin did not know. “Our time together is drawing to an end. You have but one task before you left. If you can succeed in it, I shall remove my enchantment. If not, you will hold it to the grave.”

“It will be an early one at this rate. Can you give me no advice? Or do you simply wish to torment and toy with me? Have I not played your game long enough?” He could see Bilbo in his mind, glowing but unobtainable. The hobbit had been frightened by her. Even now he would pause and think of her appearing with a shiver. He clearly hoped Thorin did not notice such things, but he always did.

“Not yet, King Under the Mountain. My intentions will be revealed when the final puzzle is solved.” She tilted her head as if listening to something and turned her gaze upward. She listened for a long moment that Thorin remained quiet during. When she looked back at him, he felt chilled. “Leave now. Your Sanzeuh has need of your presence. The madness within must be used for good.”

She faded into the air at the same time a rumble shook the ceiling.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin was quite certain his heart had failed at least twice during the frantic run up the stairs. Dwalin had run silently at his side, pale and grim.

The upper bridge, one that connected the west hall to the east, was crowded with dwarrows and men alike. They were being kept away by guards. Thorin slipped past them without slowing his run.

A large section of the bridge overhead had fallen off. Its fall had badly damaged the left side of the bridge, and the remains had fallen off the side into the abyss. Ori and Bilbo stood in the middle, pale and huddled. They were covered in fine rock dust, and rubble. Rocks were strewn about their feet, and their revealed skin was scraped. One of Bilbo’s toes looked to be broken.

Thorin drew to a halt and found it impossible to breath. Dwalin jerked towards Ori but stopped himself. He stepped closer to Thorin instead.

Bilbo coughed violently, dust flying from his curls as he shook his head. The halls around them seemed to echo with the ringing of rock that had long since fallen, and Thorin thought his heart would fail him for a third time.

He had initially thought that the attack long nights ago had been meant for him, but had it actually been meant for Bilbo? Was Thorin not what the darkness sought?

Óin was chattering to Bilbo, mumbling something about stone and safety procedures, but Thorin could not understand the words. He had not moved since entering the hall, despite the looks his Company and hobbit sent him. Emotions swirled around him, but he could not feel them past the roar of his own feelings.

Bilbo’s life had been threatened. It was likely because he held Thorin’s heart and interest. There was no other reason to harm the halfling.

He had been in the lower halls when the tunnel had collapsed on Bain. He had been at Thorin’s side when the rocks had tumbled around them. Now he stood with a shaken Ori.

Someone was trying to kill Bilbo. They were trying to crush him to death beneath stone. Beneath the rock of Thorin’s kingdom.

They would use his _mountain_ to betray his _heart_.

Dwarrows milled about them, taking stock of everything and examining the stones that had not fallen into the abyss.

“I’m not sure.” Bilbo said by way of answer to whatever question had been asked of him. “Ori shook me awake. I hit my head on something.” His fingers went to the back of his head, gingerly feeling through the curls there. “And got quite a nasty lump for my troubles.”

“The rocks started to tumble and I tried to pull him away but one of the smaller ones hit him on the head.” Ori frowned, his eyes on Bilbo’s hand. “I wasn’t quick enough.”

“I thought I saw something in the shadows.” Bilbo explained with a shrug.

“You’ll need to be watched tonight then.” Óin glanced over his shoulder at Thorin with a small smirk, and panic curled hot an intense through Thorin’s stomach. It would be expected. Whoever had attacked Bilbo would know he’d be there. They knew his schedule well enough to know where the hobbit would be at this time. Would the night-demon be waiting for him in Thorin's room now? After all, he’d failed to kill Bilbo for a third time.

He could not allow it. He had to use surprise. He had to do something the attacker would not suspect. The night-demon had trailed his love for a while now. If he had been there since the beginning-since the darkness had claimed Thorin’s mind-then there was a path he might take.

It was time for a return of madness. Someone had the intention of killing _his_ hobbit. He would allow no harm to come to Bilbo. Not now, not ever.

He pressed forward, spreading his body so he appeared larger, and widening his eyes as they had been when the gold lust flowed through his veins. Ori stepped back in shock while Bilbo went instantly pale. Óin continued digging through his bag unaware that Thorin was moving towards him. He pushed the healer out of the way, causing him to stumble into his brother.

“Wha-” the dwarf cut himself off before he finished. Thorin grabbed Bilbo’s hand where it was at his pocket, and grabbed the other one as well for good measure. He growled as he did so and dipped his fingers into Bilbo’s pocket, shaking the hobbit for appearance sake.

He didn’t have to be able to feel Bilbo to know he was terrified. Guilt surged through his chest, making him nearly nauseous with it. Terror was rising in the company.

At least he could act.

He took hold of the golden object in there, the ring Bilbo guarded so jealously, and pulled it up. “I have heard enough talk from you, _thief_.” He snarled as he pressed the ring against Bilbo’s skin. The hobbit’s face flickered in momentary confusion. “You have spread rumors of my kingdom, and have caused these three attacks.” He pressed closer and let his fingers caress Bilbo’s wrist before gripping them in what would look like a painful hold. He could see confusion and fear in Bilbo’s eyes. The hobbit was not understanding his unspoken message.

“I-I haven’t done-”

“I was too soft on you when I thought to banish you from my kingdom.” He tapped his finger against the ring again, pressing it into Bilbo’s palm while Fíli and Kíli took frightened steps forward.

He had forgotten to think of them. The Company would not allow him to harm Bilbo. Not like this. They would think him mad, and they would not let him injure Bilbo for the love they bore the hobbit, and the love they bore _him_. They all knew that Bilbo held his heart. He would go truly mad if he harmed Bilbo in a bout of gold lust.

“I said you would be not but a burden, and I was wrong to ever think otherwise. You have brought nothing but despair down on all our heads!”

A snarl of khuzdul sounded behind him somewhere to the left and then there was an exclamation from Bofur and Nori and what sounded like a scuffle. He could not risk a glance back, but he was certain Bifur had just tried to charge him. 

“Uncle, he hasn’t-”

“Silence! I will brook no argument.” He gave Bilbo another shake and allowed his fingers to twine with Bilbo’s for a moment’s time while he did so. Bilbo’s eyes widened at the action and darted up to stare at Thorin’s in confusion. “Dwalin!” He barked the word out and he saw the dwarf jump out of his frozen state out of the corner of his eye.

“Sire?” There was an uncertain quality mixed with loyalty, and the horror he could feel from each dwarf was nearly maddening.

“Take him to the dungeons.” Dori was clearing out the other dwarrows with the aid of Balin and Óin. They were far enough away that he felt safe to give a hint to his guard. “Show him how Frerin passed.”

For the swiftest of seconds, Dwalin’s eyes narrowed. He gave his head a sharp nod and took Bilbo by his left arm. He hauled him away and Thorin watched him go, his heart pounding and his stomach twisting in on itself.

He turned to the left and found himself chest to chest with a rubble covered Ori. The dwarf was glaring fiercely and looked fit to murder. Bofur was a few feet behind him, still holding a crazed Bifur away. Nori was helping, but neither looked like they were certain why they were holding the dwarf back.

Fíli and Kíli were at his side, stunned into silence.

“What are you doing?!”

He would never fail to be amazed that people-himself often included- saw Ori as weak. The dwarf had volunteered for a quest he was not likely to survive, and had not shied away from any challenge. He had watched the ponies and struggled to keep them together when Wargs had attacked. He had lunged after Bilbo when the hobbit had slipped off the cliff edge. He had stood tall as the ‘youngest’ though he was not, simply so he could defend Kíli from a horrible fate at the Goblin’s King. He had been the first to question Gandalf, and fearless in the face of the giant spiders. He had stood up to horrors time and time again.

Even now, standing up before Thorin who was pretending to be mad, who had nearly choked a hobbit, and then nearly flung the same hobbit off the battlements in his madness, he was not frightened.

“Ridding myself of a liar.” He made to push past Ori but was stopped by a firm grip on his arm. He turned and snarled at his nephew. Fíli didn’t even flinch.

“This is madness, Uncle.”

They were stalling when he only needed to get them away. He could explain all if they would only give him time.

_Then perhaps you should use your secret language. Aulë crafted it with just such moments in mind. Zabadâl._

The words drifted with the air, circling around his head as wind on a chilly day. They were light as music and tinkling bells, but they made his stomach drop away.

Oh… _Oh_. He was a fool.

The creature, the Id-damâm ushlak, would not know the language. The translation of it had never been recorded. It was taught orally and kept in the hearts of Dwarrow. Its secrets would be safe.

“Ori, akalliti men. (Ori, hear me.)” The young dwarf stared up at him, his eyes intent in their study of him. “Bilbo manassasûn. Zu natumi atus Id-damâm ushlak. (Bilbo will be safe. I will end the hunt for the Blood Drinker. )

The response, surprisingly, did not come from Ori. “Sakallakîn?” (A trick?) Kíli asked in surprise. Thorin nodded his head but kept his eyes on Ori. Fíli released his arm.

Dwalin slipped back into the room silent as the wind and went straight to Thorin’s side. His gaze was fierce.

“The hobbit disappeared. I thought he was taken, but then he spoke to me.”

“He has a trinket that allows him to go unseen. I silently instructed him to use it.”

“I told him to go to your room, Ori.” Dwalin spoke without moving his eyes from Thorin. “He’s making his way there right now. Go see if he needs aid. We can’t have him falling asleep.”

Ori nodded and headed down the hall. Glóin fell in step beside him, protecting him while Dwalin could not. “Now, sire, care to tell me what just happened?”

“Bilbo was attacked for the third time.” Thorin stated with a low growl he couldn’t quite get rid of. He noticed his hands fisted at his side and slowly relaxed them. Fear, hate, and fury were winding in his stomach, and it wasn’t all his.

“The third time?” Fíli asked at the same time Balin inhaled sharply.

“You mean that the other attacks weren’t sporadic?”

Thorin allowed himself a moment to meet Balin's startled gaze. “He was accompanying Bain, and he we were together when the second cave-in occurred.”

“So someone is trying to kill our hobbit.” Dwalin turned his gaze back on Thorin, and though it was still hard, it was less judging.

“And knows his schedule.”

“So you fake madness?” Thorin shrugged. He was tense and wanted to run to relieve himself of the horrible adrenaline thundering along his veins.

“It was what she recommended.”

“She?” Balin snapped warningly. His eyes narrowed to tiny slits, but the grey orbs were fierce. “The witch?”

“I don’t think she’s a witch.” Dwalin stated before Thorin could speak. He stood a little straighter when everyone’s eyes turned on him. “An enchantress to be sure, but not so vulgar or lowly as a witch.”

Thorin opened his mouth to reply and promptly sucked in a startled breath as he replayed her last message in his head. _Zabadâl_ the lady had called him King in the tongue of Dwarrows.

She had known khuzdul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zabadâl technically means he/she that is King. God, I love the new khuzdul dictionaries.


	15. Chapter 15

The Green Lady who had taken it upon herself to teach him the meaning of emotions knew the sacred, secret language of dwarrows.

Still, there was not time to be shocked at the revelation because they had to act now. They had a moment, a simple moment, of surprise. The night-demon would think that Bilbo was headed to the dungeons. They could possibly cut him off before he reached it.They could corner him there at the very least.

They could find him. They could destroy him.

In the back of his mind he could hear Bilbo reading Gandalf’s letter. ‘ _Do not go into the lower levels_.’

It would be wiser to wait, but there was not time.

They rushed down, Dwalin, Balin, Dori, Nori, Bofur, Bifur, Óin, Fíli, and Kíli, with him.

The halls were utterly silent and dark despite the guards that patrolled them. The malice was no where to be found.

He had never been in the lower levels without feeling even a hint of it.

 _You’ve gone the wrong way._ Thorin’s mind whispered despairingly in a voice he hadn’t heard since the madness. It was the same voice that had pulled him from its dark, silky depths. _It knew where Bilbo was going. It knew where he would be_.

He knew, without at all knowing why he knew, that Bilbo was in desperate danger. The Ring wouldn’t protected him. It would fail. It was a certainty that gripped him to his very soul, and he found himself turning with the fear of it.

He’d sent the hobbit into a trap. Possibly into his very death! And he’d sent Ori with him. Gandalf had been so very right. He should not have tried to go on alone. He’d made everything far worse, and now he might be too late.

A single shared look with Dwalin was all that was needed to relay such information to Dwalin. They turned as one and charged back up the dark steps. The others followed without being told to do so.

The race to Ori’s level was dark and nothing but a blur of movement to Thorin’s head. He paid no attention to where his feet landed and let his memory dictate his direction. He focused on making his movements quicker and continuing to breath while avoiding any thought on what could be currently happening to the hobbit and loyal scribe.

He could hear screams as they drew nearer. Terrible, pained noises that made his blood run cold and his heart falter.

When they reached Ori’s hall, three things caught his eyes. The hall was nearly empty, there was a man standing in the middle of it with a curved blade, and Glóin was laying unconscious on the floor.

He ran forward without stopping, the scream echoing in his mind. Dwalin took the man out while he continued to down the hall. Fíli, Kíli, and Bofur knelt to aid Glóin.

The door to Ori’s room was off its hinges.

Thorin ran forward without active thought, his heart pounding and his blood thundering too loudly to hear anything else. He’d sent Bilbo and Ori to the room to stay safe! Had his plan truly backfired so badly?

The room was a horrible mess. The desk had been overturned and the chair turned into splinters. The bed was broken in half, and the front of his chest had been ripped off. Shredded paper filled the floor, along with spilled ink and shattered pencils. The candles had been knocked to the floor and there was no fire lit.

Bilbo was on the floor with Ori curled up on the ground. He had the dwarf tugged onto his lap and was holding him tightly to his chest while rocking.

He stilled for a moment, uncertain he could move. The air was heavy with unspeakable things, and an imposing sense of hate still resided in the room. The shadows were too long, and the two bodies in the room too still.

He stared at Bilbo and Ori without really seeing. There was blood on both of them, and they were both far too pale. Ori’s clothes were torn and his scarf had been violently ripped in half. Bilbo was sitting upright, unlike the dwarf, but he looked like he could barely breathe.

He was breathing.

“His fingers,” Bilbo hiccuped, his face drawn and pale as he helped Ori sit up. The scribe swayed dangerously and Thorin barely reached them in time to help him upright again. He couldn’t think clearly enough to form an actual question. “They broke his fingers.” Thorin dropped his gaze and barely acknowledged Dwalin entering the room and going utterly still. He was dragging the man that had hurt Glóin along with him.

Thorin turned the scarf wrapped hand over in his hands and grimaced at what he saw. The fingers were badly mangled. Óin would have quite the task resetting them. It would be a long time before they healed.

He had failed them both.

“Mistake.” Dwalin growled, and then he threw the guard that had betrayed them to the ground. A sickening crunch echoed through the air and Thorin spared the briefest glance to see that Dwalin’s boot was on top of the man’s crushed hand.

“It wanted Bilbo.” Ori managed, his voice tight with pain. He grit his jaw and leaned a little more on Bilbo. “It kept asking for him but I wouldn’t answer. He had the man break my fingers.”

“I-the ring wouldn’t come off.” Bilbo barely seemed able to get the words out.

“And you shouldn’t have even tried. Whatever the Blood-Drinker wanted with you, it wasn’t good. We can’t aid him. My hand will heal. It’s not even the right hand.”

It was his right hand. Ori gave his head a small shake at Thorin’s look. A hard thud sounded behind them. The sound of a fist connecting with flesh. Their attacker would not be rising anytime soon. “I’m left handed. They didn’t know that.” He shrugged his left shoulder. "I can fight with either hand, but I write left-handed.” He grimaced again as Dwalin came towards them. He knelt at Ori’s side and grabbed the arm of his injured hand more carefully than Thorin had ever seen him handle anything.

“You were attacked by the Vampire?”

Ori gave his head a stiff nod and clenched his jaw. He swallowed loudly and exhaled through his nose as Dori and Nori shuffled into the room. The older dwarf let out a horrified squeak. “He came in moments after I entered. Bilbo didn’t even have time to say anything. The door was thrown off its hinges and the man rushed in. He knocked me over before I could get up and extinguished the lights.” Dori dropped at Ori’s side and grabbed his uninjured hand. While Nori took a protective stance beside him. Dori shared a look with Dwalin the likes of which Thorin had never seen on the kind dwarf’s face.

“Then the shadow came.” Bilbo looked up and met Thorin’s eyes. His breath caught in his throat at the fear in them. They flickered over his face, searching for something. “It filled the room.”

“It was impossible to breathe.” Ori agreed, nodding his head. He was already regaining some measure of color. He was so very much stronger than he looked.

“I’m afraid neither of us really saw it. I was stuck in the corner by the desk.” Bilbo swallowed shakily and his hand tightened on its hold of Ori’s shoulder. “He stayed in the shadows. The man did all the physical harm while the creature tore up the furniture. It ran away way when it heard you coming.”

“It can’t go in the light?” Thorin had not heard Balin enter.

“I don’t know if that’s the case.” He was still staring at Thorin with worried eyes, and it hit Thorin like a sledgehammer as to why that would be.

“Sanzeuh, I have not fallen to the gold madness. It was a distraction to have you escape. I am sorry that it failed so utterly. I sought to send you somewhere he would not look for you.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo’s eyes locked on Thorin’s waist, wide and startled. He dropped his eyes to his waist as Bilbo continued. “Orcrist.”

The blade was glowing at his side.

He sprang to his feet in one well practiced move and had his sworn withdrawn. He turned around and faced the door as the room grew darker. The hate pounding against his skin was entirely unmistakable and would have made him ill if he weren’t so determined.

As was, he stood taller and raised his sword against the darkness. It lit the air around him, fighting the darkness back. Balin moved further into the room, standing beside Nori. The other dwarrows drew nearer to Ori and Bilbo, bodily blocking them. Dwalin and Dori stood up and stepped right behind him, ready to die for the scribe.

It was cold suddenly, and Thorin’s body ached from it.

The darkness at the door was thick, too dense to see through, and it drew nearer them. Silence stretched around them, cutting off the sound of everything except their breathing. Clouds of breath froze in the air and he found himself longing for the warmth of summer. The glow of light around his legs, the light of his friends and their life, gave him courage and he stood straighter still. He had met fire and rage head on, he would face ice and shadow the same.

“Id-damâm ushlak, show yourself!” He called the beast by its name, invoking the power of spoken things to draw it near.

“You wish to see me, little King?” The voice seemed to come from the entirety of the shadow, powerful but quiet. “I am hunger and thirst. I am thousands of years of darkness. I am ice and shadow. I have drank rivers of blood and not burst, I have devoured armies and still starve.”*

The shadow grew larger as it spoke, filling the front of the room as it swelled. It stretched towards them. He was not certain what he could do against shadow, but Orcrist was warm in his hand. She felt no chill of shadow. She had been crafted by the Noldor to fight such enemies as this.

He thought a fervent prayer and gripped his blade more tightly. He steadied his legs and swung outward, slashing the edge of the shadow. A shriek echoed through the room, impossibly loud, and the shadow recoiled.

There was a shape in the shadow, something he could nearly see. He lifted his sword higher and was rewarded with a hiss as the shadow coiled still further back. The form became clearer until Thorin could truly see it.

It was as tall as a man, but far broader. It’s skin was a pale grey color that spoke of decades without sunlight. He was muscular but extremely lean, and looked on the edge of starvation. He was half crouched, with long legs that weren’t shaped quite right. His arms were far too thin, and ended in three fingers hooked with claws. Skin stretched from his arms to his back, creating translucent wings that were a strange, mottled color and hideous.

His face was terrifying. It was like that of a man, but disproportional and too sunken. The nose was sharp, nearly beak like, and the lips dark and thin. The bottom of his mouth was scarred in two places  as if it had been cut too many times and had finally healed over strangely. He had scraggly hair that was black as night and oily in a disgusting way. His eyes, bruised and sunken in their sockets, were black voids devoid of any light.

Something from nightmares. It would have made a less experienced dwarf turn away, but Thorin had seen Durin’s Bane itself and faced Dragon-fire. He was not so easily frightened. Orcrist was still steady in his hands, and the ones he most loved were at his back.

“You cannot have him.” He swung the sword again and she seemed to sing through the air as the shadow withdrew.

“The halfling entered into the void.” The creature spat, his voice as cold and quiet as the shadows he lived in. “The realm of me and my kin. It entered our kingdom without permission, and carries something far more precious than it knows.” The black eyes darted to Bilbo, beady and full of malice. It radiated off him like heat from the forges. It was inescapable and impossible to ignore. The hideous face spread its lips, bearing teeth that were too long and too sharp for the slightly human face.

He stepped forward with Orcrist raised and glared at the creature. It would stare at Bilbo no longer. Too long had it hunted in the shadows. Too long had it watched them. Too long had it haunted Bilbo’s steps.

“You are now in _my_ kingdom, shadow creature. I am here to remove you from it.”

The vampire laughed. It started as a shrill noise that seemed to sink into the stone around them until it reverberated with the noise at a lower pitch that surrounded them with malice and evil. The creature slipped backwards into his shadow and through the door.

“You can try, little king.”

And then the shadow disappeared, leaving the room cold.

-[]-[]-[]-

They left for the next level up and lit a fire in the large room.  Óin tended to Ori’s fingers while Bilbo explained everything that had happened to Bilbo.

Thorin, despite the urging of his heart, went to Bard. He informed him of what had passed and gave the man (broken hand and black eyed) into his hands.

If Bard gave him a lenient sentence, he would send Nori after him in the dead of the night. The betrayer would never be found again. Not when the spymaster was finished.

He ordered that all fires be set and set the miners and workers to tend to the furnaces. They would have them ignited once more. Their light would aid in chasing away the foul shadow. He did not know if it was the light that had driven the shadow back, or the magic in the blade. He simply knew that shadow could not exist where there was light. After all, the man had been sent in first to douse the light before the vampire could come.

In absences of fact he would go on theory.

Now he was heading back to his room with a heavy heart. He had been horribly mistaken and it had very nearly cost him the life of two he loved. Life was supposed to be easier in his mountain. The battle was supposed to be finished with the demise of Smaug.

He had half a mind to tell the coming caravans to return to Ered Luin until the creature could be vanquished. It would bring the last dwarrows he cared about, and then all that he loved would be in Erebor’s dangerous halls.

He assigned the guards who accompanied him to guard the hall and pushed the door to his bedroom open. He would sleep for a few hours and check on the others in the first light of morning. He needed rest desperately. It was late already, well past midnight.

It was pleasantly warm inside the room, like a spring day. The air was clean and smelled of sun-warmed grass and for a moment, he could only breath it in. It felt as if the last bit of the creature’s shadow was cleared from him. He had not even realized the darkness was clinging to him.

The glowing lady stood before his fire, warming her hands and humming under her breath. He had never heard a more beautiful, enchanting sound. It was most likely a spell, but at that moment he would have been glad to be enchanted.

“Mountain’s son.” The Green Lady greeted quietly. She didn’t bother turning to greet him. He removed his cape, crown, and vambraces and set them on the table. He felt remarkably better. Well enough not to be too angry about the intrusion on his space.

“Why are you here?” He tried to keep his tone from sounding accusing. He was tired of these endless meetings and wished to know plainly what she wanted.

“Long have I watched you, Thorin Oakenshield. You have shown promise the likes of which has not been seen since Durin himself. I have sought to aid you where I could, yet you denied yourself the most simple of strengths. You know why I interfered.”

“But why did you care? I went to my death. Why should I have told Bilbo that I cared? It would only have been cruel.” He stood beside the table, studying her in the fire light. She was truly beautiful, but infinitely hard to remember whenever she was not present. A simple impression of beauty and green was all that remained when she was gone.

“Because it is not on you to decide what another can take. You denied him something he had a right to know.” She stepped forward and Thorin noticed she was barefoot. He had never bothered to look at her feet before, and found the fact somehow proper. She continued to walk towards him. “I will not tarry here much longer. You were right to use Orcrist against the Man of Shadow. She will offer a light in the darkness. Bring the three together and you can defeat that which plagues you.” Her eyes went to the door behind Thorin and a smile graced her lips. Her gaze returned to Thorin, brighter than it had been. “You’ve a visitor now.”

She faded into the air as a knocked echoed on the door.

He turned to open, it already rather certain what he should find. Bifur stood at his door with Bilbo at his side. He motioned for the hobbit to enter and he did so with a small, uncertain smile. “Thank you.”

Bifur nodded his head and signed that he would guard the door. Thorin inclined his head in thanks and helped Bilbo into the room. He shut the door and locked it after a moments thought. Bilbo wandered further into the room, breathing deeply. Thorin watched as his shoulders relaxed and felt his own stomach un-knot further.

“Ghivashel, I must apologize again.”

“I’m simply sorry it took me so long to figure out what you were trying to say. I should have been more clever.” He shrugged and wandered towards the fire. His hands stretched towards it and he spread them to seek the fires warmth. He went towards him slowly, wary of frightening his hobbit any further.

Bilbo turned towards him and tilted his head.

“What did that mean earlier? You called me a name but it wasn’t common. At least, it wasn’t any common I’ve ever heard. What does it mean? Sanzeuh?” Thorin was wholly incapable of suppressing the shiver hearing that word sent up his spine. He would panic in a moment. For now he just wanted to remember how it felt to hear the one that held his heart call him Sanzeuh, even if it was indirectly.

Bilbo was no longer as pale as death and his curls shone from the bath Óin would have made him take. The braid Thorin had given him so many days ago was nearly undone, but it was still clasped with his bead. His clothes were too large for his body and they hung enticingly loosely. Sting was strapped to his waist-much to Thorin’s pleasure-and his hands were hanging limply at his side. His feet were freshly combed, and his toes had been bandaged from the earlier attack. His green eyes were soft with curiosity and acceptance of Thorin. The fire light made him seem all the more golden, and his aura was stretching towards Thorin.

He was lovely, and Thorin was certain that he would never be anything else but lovely.

He mumbled something in reply, though he could not have said what it was. He simply felt his mouth moving and air leaving his lips. He couldn’t even hear his words.

He had very nearly lost him to shadow and hate. He’d always imagined that his world would end in fire and passion, but it had nearly ended in ice and hate.

Bilbo looked at Thorin with a grin that hinted that he might have thought him a bit slow. “I’m sorry, Malannasiuh, what was that?” (My much loved)

Thorin stopped and stared with painfully wide eyes as his heart stopped beating in his chest. “You…you can speak khuzdul?”

Bilbo shrugged and grinned all the wider. “A little bit.”

He understood what Thorin had called him. He knew what he considered him to be.

He had to leave this room and never see Bilbo again. He ignored the way his heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of leaving his Sanzeuh. He _had_ to leave. He couldn’t bear to see rejection in those ridiculously blue/green eyes. He wouldn’t be able to handle hearing him say that he wasn’t interested in that. That Thorin had frightened him for the final time. That he couldn’t be near one who could go mad at any-

Malannasiuh? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If any of that sounded familiar to you, it was because I unashamedly borrowed it from The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian. (The Book, not the movie. Peter kills me in that movie. WTH, man. WTH.)
> 
> Now, Vampires in Tolkien's world aren't a lot like vampires in our world. They're more of giant bats with human faces. Morgoth crafted them in the first age-the same time he crafted the Balrog and other such demons. 
> 
> Orcrist in the book is described as glowing (and it kills me that it doesn't in the movie) and when Thorin died the sword was placed on his tomb. It continued to glow whenever an enemy drew near and thus the kingdom was never taken by surprise again. So, in this story, she's going to glow whenever nasty things draw near. The high-elves who crafted the three blades-Orcrist, Glamdring, and Sting- were fighting evil and brilliant so I imagine she has a lot of enchantments woven into her.
> 
> To put it bluntly: Orcris is a powerful blade and she's going to kick some demon arse.


	16. Chapter 16

His father had warned him, when they traveled landless looking for a home, that love weakened the heart. ‘You cannot survive without your heart.’ He had warned bitterly.

His father had seemed to give up long before the death of Thror. He had thought it was the loss of Erebor, but now he was certain it was the loss of Freris. His father had not been strong enough to continue without her.

In his heart of hearts, Thorin feared the same thing. To give himself to Bilbo fully would mean that Bilbo would easily be able to break him. It would make him appear weak. Needy.

And yet his heart had stopped beating because he imagined that Bilbo would reject him. He had done rather a poor job of keeping his heart locked away.

Though that might have been because Bilbo was a Burglar. There was no place Thorin could hide his heart that the hobbit would not find it.

His hobbit, his brave Burglar, had done what he could not. He had stood in front of Thorin and, with a smile, had defied any fears he might have harbored. 

Malannasiuh. Bilbo had called him Malannasiuh. “What?”

Bilbo’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he nodded his head, bronze curls bouncing hypnotically. “There you go. Knew you’d get there eventually. Yes, Malannasiuh, Thorin. Or, should I say Sanzeuh?” He swallowed and peered at Thorin a little closer. His glow dimmed a bit, Thorin notice distantly. His brain didn’t quite seem to be working correctly at the moment. It couldn’t get around what was happening, and, in its exhaustion and confusion had stopped really deciphering anything. “Can I say Malannasiuh?” Bilbo swallowed and Thorin noticed the hint of worry that he hadn’t seen in the blue of his eyes earlier. “I’d really like to.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

He sucked in a breath and tried to fill his suddenly empty lungs with the air. His entire world was crashing around him in the shock of this discovery, _but_ …

But, it was rebuilding itself into a far more magnificent one. A world where he could simply love, and be loved by, Bilbo Baggins. He could see it playing out before his eyes. Bilbo grinning at him across the hall, a smile that promised unspeakable pleasures later. Bilbo’s laugh at a quiet remark from Thorin, and the resulting warmth that would invariably fill him at the sound of it. Bilbo holding him close after a failed meeting. Thousands of days and endless talks. A constant vigil at either sickbed. Meals taken in the peace of their room with feet entangled under the table. Shared glances across a hall of dignitaries. Wrapped up in each other’s arms at night after tireless hours of love-making. The simple joy of having someone to live with. Someone to share his thoughts with. Someone to fill that horrible gap left in his heart from the first ruin of Erebor and the hate of Smaug.

No, not someone, the One. His Sanzeuh.  Thorin had been an utter imbecile to never realize it was not a weakness.

It was strength. Erebor had given him a reason to fight, something to pursue. An ember in his chest that had all but faded until he met the Wizard. Bilbo would give him a reason to live. Loving Bilbo had already healed other relationships. It was natural, and made him stronger for it. He tried things he had not thought would work, he heeded others opinions, he _cared_. He had heard Bilbo say that he loved him three times, six if he counted the khuzdul words.

Yet he had never truly understood it. Bilbo knew who he was, all parts of him. He had seen him at his absolute worse, he knew what he had been and could be. And Bilbo had pursued Thorin the _entire_ time. He had known and sought anyway. He had loved Thorin without any strings attached. He had loved him without the promise of being loved in return. He had loved him for who he truly was. Bilbo more than anyone else in all of Middle Earth knew the horrible things he was capable of. Bilbo had seen first hand what the madness that plagued his family could bring about.

And yet Bilbo had stood before him with a fond smile and told him that he was dramatic and loved. He had not been loved in that manner since his mother. He was loved first for the leader he was, then for the dwarrow he was. 

But such love made him a better leader.

A king who cared, one who had his heart open to mercy was a far better ruler than one who was closed and suspicious. A king that cared was willing to do anything, to even die, for those he ruled. Such a king was worth following. Balin had even blatantly told him such a thing.

And now Bilbo was staring at him in pain and embarrassment. “Sorry, I-I’m just going to leave now.” Bilbo stumbled back a step before Thorin captured his arms in a vice grip. It allowed the hobbit no room to leave, but didn’t press upon his wounds.

 _If our affections are returned, we tend to stay together for life._ The foolish hobbit clearly thought his affections were not returned, though until now Thorin had not shown they were.

“You are going nowhere. Not until I have had a chance to explain how foolish I have been.” Bilbo’s eyes darted between Thorin and the door for a moment before he slumped and nodded his head.

“Very well.” He sucked in a breath and visibly steeled himself for what Thorin was about to say.

Thorin slowly released Bilbo’s right hand and brought his own hand up to caress the side of the hobbit’s face. The cheek was wonderfully warm against his fingertips, and soft enough to make his heart thump all the harder.

“You speak some Khuzdul, and you know what Malannasiuh means, correct?”

“One I love.” Bilbo mumbled, his eyes downcast. “I’ve told you several times now that I love you. I thought I would try it in your tongue. That maybe that would…” he trailed off and simply stood still.

“Essentially. Though, that is a bit more simplified of a definition.” He should have told him that first morning. He should have pulled him back into the furs and spoke the words against every inch of the hobbit’s skin.

“Oh?” He still refused to meet Thorin’s eyes, but his head lifted a bit.

“It originally meant ‘one who I love endlessly.’” He made no response other than to bite his lip. “Sanzeuh, on the other hand, has a much deeper meaning than the translation of ‘My Perfect One.”’ Thorin traced the soft cheek again, moving up the warm skin to trace the contour of the slightly curved right ear and back down Bilbo’s jawline. It was a familiar path, one he had traced endlessly through the nights. The hobbit finally met his eyes, and he was utterly moved by the vulnerability he saw in them.

“To westerners, it would come closest to soulmate. The One who is my other half, without whom I am incomplete. The only One I have, and will, love. I have burned for you, and only you, Master Baggins.” Bilbo’s breath hitched and Thorin was helpless to stop himself from tracing the hobbit’s lips as he finished.

The hobbit- _his_ hobbit, was pale and didn’t look to really believe the words he said. He had been a quiet fool for far too long. He had denied Bilbo all that he deserved. He had denied him affection simply because of pride and fear.

He had not seen the point in saying it, but he had jealously hoarded the words when they were spoken. He had thought of himself before Bilbo. He had worried for his own appearance more than he had worried for Bilbo’s heart.

He would do so no longer. “Hear me now, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. I will leave you only in death, and I will wait there until you are by my side. I love you, and I will declare it before the Valar, and until the ending of the world.”

He dropped his head until their foreheads were touching. His right hand found Bilbo’s hand and he twined their fingers together while the thumb of his left hand continued to stroke Bilbo’s cheek.

“I name you Sanzeuh, my Bilbo. I gratefully accept your heart and life, and offer you my own heart and life in return.”

Barely a breath passed between Bilbo staring into his eyes to Bilbo kissing him with unhindered passion. The hobbit’s hands cupped his cheeks as if to keep him there forever. The effort-while appreciated-was not in the slightest necessary. He would not have stepped away for the world. He certainly wouldn’t have left without dragging Bilbo along. Bilbo’s lips were finally against his, warm, firm, sensual, and determined. Thorin basked in being held, feeling Bilbo’s smaller frame against his own, tasting the hobbit against his tongue, breathing in his scent.

He was nearly drunk with it.

Bilbo seemed to grow steadier. His hands went to Thorin’s chest and tugged the weskit there open. He managed to slide it off Thorin’s shoulder without breaking the kiss. Bilbo walked him backwards as he did so, herding him unmistakably towards the bed. His skin burned with the urge to be closer, to be rid of any remaining barriers between them. Every touch of Bilbo was soothing as a balm on a burn, but also caused an ache to bloom in his heart that he didn't know how to end. He wanted to show Bilbo how much he was loved, but danger seemed to loom around them. Even the hobbit's ring had not been enough to conceal him from the evil in the mountain. 

He unfastened Sting from Bilbo’s side and put it on the floor by the bed. He did the same with Orcrist, making certain they were slightly unsheathed so that they could see the glow if danger arrived.

Bilbo continued to attack his clothes with an intensity the hobbit normally saved for a good meal. He let Bilbo do what he wanted. He had stopped the hobbit long enough. His Burglar could do anything he wished. They would not have much rest, but it would not be a loss.

When they were finally naked he laid back on the bed in blatant invitation that Bilbo accepted. The hobbit was up and over him, his arms the only thing keeping him from covering Thorin entirely. He couldn’t see all the wished in that position, but he could feel. He reached down and cupped Bilbo’s generous rear, marveling at how perfectly it fit into his palms. His hobbit’s breath hitched and he pressed back into the hold, letting his head simply hang for a moment before he looked up and caught Thorin’s eyes.

He had never seen such fire in his hobbit’s gaze.  

He tightened his grip on Bilbo’s rear and kneaded his handfuls. Bilbo squeaked in reply and snapped his hips forward against Thorin’s. He let out a long, shuddery breath and pinched Thorin’s nipple. Pleasure sparked along his nerves and the burning around his heart intensified. “Cheeky git.”

He knocked Bilbo’s hand to the side so that the hobbit fell flat on his chest and grabbed his chin to guide his mouth into a kiss. He spread his legs while he did so and Bilbo settled between them easily. The hobbit tried to push himself back up but Thorin would not have that. He had held himself away from Bilbo for far too long.

He deepened the kiss and spread his fingers through Bilbo’s curls while his other hand slid up Bilbo’s chest.  He wrapped his leg around Bilbo’s waist to draw him closer, keeping him near. Bilbo made a low grunting noise that he swallowed eagerly. Bilbo grabbed a handful of his hair while his other hand set to exploring Thorin’s skin.

It was the first time he’d had Bilbo on top, and the first time he’d ever trusted someone else to let them on top. It was a strange feeling to have someone covering him. To be able to feel Bilbo everywhere over him. He could explore Bilbo’s back this way. Trace the golden skin he’d admired with his fingers until he’d memorized every inch.

He had nearly lost Bilbo to the shadow. Thorin would not waste time anymore.

He wanted to do everything with Bilbo, to take him and allow himself to be taken, but they could not on this night. They were almost certain to have a fight tomorrow, and Thorin would not risk either of them being sore. Still, there were endless other things they could attempt.

And he knew just where he wanted to start.

He wanted to touch everywhere, wanted to taste and explore, to truly gorge himself on Bilbo as a hobbit would a feast. The muscles in his stomach were fluttery and tight with the want of it. His eyes slipped close as Bilbo’s leg dragged up on the bed and his toes traced along Thorin’s calf. Something deep in his chest seemed to spill over at the simple touch.

He would never allow the doubt and fear to rise in Bilbo’s eyes again. Never again would Bilbo have need to question his devotion to him.

He rolled them over so that Bilbo was spread out on the sheets, all soft skin and shining hair. He touched and licked and sucked as he rose up, drawing moans and shivers from Bilbo as steadily as his hammer would shape a sword.

He’d always known how much of himself he’d had to keep hold of when Bilbo was near. His hobbit drew him out like no other had ever been able, and was easily able to make him forget all he had ever learned about restraint.  To see Bilbo now… to have this hobbit spread out beneath him, his eyes hooded and skin flushed with desire. To have him vulnerable and open, ever open to all of Thorin, it called to Thorin as nothing ever had or would.

When he made his way down the hobbit’s waist, when he came face to face with his arousal, it made a jolt of hot arousal curl through his clenched belly. Bilbo’s eyes were closed and his head was pressed back with a stunned, soft cry of need. He wrapped a hand around it easily and risked a quick glance at the swords to make certain they were safe while Bilbo’s hips canted up into his hand.

There was no glow to be seen, so he faced his hobbit again. Bilbo had grabbed hold of the sheet with his right hand, and his left hand was laying fisted by his side. He’d bitten his lip to keep silent and that unexpectedly sent a wave of fondness through him.

He closed his mouth around the tip of Bilbo's arousal and felt a light tremor run up through his hobbit’s leg as his back arched sharply. He made a high, keening cry before his hand flew up to cover his mouth.

He had never attempted this before. His past lovers has either been female, or determined to service him. Still, seeing Bilbo react in such a way was encouraging. So he relaxed his jaw and took more of the hobbit into his mouth. Bilbo was heavy and salty on his tongue, and his other senses seemed to become all the more intent as he noticed everything. Each breath Bilbo released, every high whine and choked cry was louder than a minstrel. Each tremor felt as distinct to Thorin as an earthquake. He could smell nothing but the scent of honey, apples, and pipeweed that Bilbo eternally seemed to perfume the air with.

He moved with a steady rhythm, keeping his eyes locked on Bilbo’s face as he worked. He tried different depths as he worked, and different ways of working his tongue until his jaw ached. He could feel Bilbo tensing under his hand, and the hand Bilbo had snuck into his hair was nearly painful with how tightly it was clinging to him.

Finally Bilbo gasped a warning and Thorin redoubled his efforts. His hobbit’s back arched softly and his hand flew to grasp Thorin’s shoulder. He grasped it as if he couldn’t let go and cried out as he finally reached his release.

He had but a moment to swallow the salty, mildly bitter seed before Bilbo was tugging him up with sloppy movements. Thorin went willingly, his stomach clenching with need and the desire to be closer.

Bilbo’s hand wrapped around his arousal and pulled, Thorin’s breath caught sharply in his throat and he couldn’t stop his hips from pushing into Bilbo’s hand. His hobbit sought his lips and he allowed them to be claimed as Bilbo irresistibly pulled him over the precipice of his own release.

When he came back to himself he was laying on his back with Bilbo curled up at his side. His hobbit was holding him with all his strength, nearly fearful in his grip.

He wrapped his own arm around Bilbo and brought his other hand to caress his hobbit’s arm where it was draped over his chest. “Mizimuh, Sanzeuh, will you allow me to give you a braid of betrothal in the morning?”

“Only if I can braid one in your hair as well.” Warmth spread through his stomach like a drink of ale. It left him heated and content. There would be no more hiding. Whatever the future held, he would face it with his heart. Vulnerable yet strong…

The swords were still without glow, and it took little effort to clean himself and Bilbo before pulling the fur around their shoulders. They would get a few hours of rest while they could, and greet the morning together.

Then they would start to banish this evil from the mountain.


	17. Chapter 17

Thorin woke Bilbo in the morning as he had always wanted to. With slow kisses and lingering caresses. He could touch all he wanted now, and he found that he was quite agreeable to that thought. The hobbit was a slow waker when he was tired, and it had pained him to get Bilbo going with nothing more than a shake and call.

He had not thought it would be his right to do anything more intimate. He had Bilbo’s heart now, and by extension, he could touch.

The smile Bilbo gifted him when he (finally) woke made it hard to climb out of the bed and dress. He slipped his tunic over his head and turned to find that Bilbo was still sitting in the bed, his eyes locked on Thorin’s form with a smile that was lazy and terribly inviting.

His hobbit laughed at being caught and slid from the bed to get dressed for the day. Thorin found himself watching as well. He caught a glimpse of the shining silver of mithril before a shirt covered it, and his heart eased to see the protection on his hobbit. He stared for a moment longer before he pulled on the rest of his clothes.

Once they were dressed he caught Bilbo in an embrace and kissed the lips that had tempted him since he left the bed. He ran his fingers through the soft curls and remembered what he had wished to do the previous night.

He seated Bilbo on his bed for the braiding. He undid the haphazardously made braid he had woven into the silken locks so many mornings previously, and combed the strands out with fingers that felt to clumsy for such delicate hair. Bilbo’s eyes did not leave him as he worked.

Once the hair was free of tangles he wove the pattern that made up the betrothal braid. It started as two braids before joining at a knot and becoming one braid. He had been taught the braid as a lad but he had never before made it. Bilbo would be the only one to ever bare this braid from him. The bronze locks would be the only he ever wove in such a pattern.

His fingers worked steadily on the pattern and it was not long before he completed the braid and sat back. He clasped it with a bead from the back of his hair, one of the two he had worn since he came of age, and pressed a kiss to the silver in promise before releasing it.

“You’ll talk me through it?” Bilbo asked as he gathered up a hank of Thorin’s thicker hair with steady hands. Thorin could barely nod his head, so heavy was the realization that he was about to become betrothed. He had claimed Bilbo already, and now he was being claimed.

His sister would be shocked. She had lamented that he would never find someone to love.

He sat back on the floor and Bilbo slipped down beside him, kneeling on his knees. He scooted as close as he could be and still work the hair before turning his gaze on Thorin and smiling for him to start. His voice was thick as he murmured instruction, but Bilbo didn’t comment. He simply followed the given steps until he reached the end of Thorin’s hair. He held his hand up for the bead, and Thorin passed it to him. He couldn’t resist brushing their fingers against each other as the bead was passed over.

Bilbo held his eyes while he clasped it. They were somewhere between green-and blue, and shining with silent delight the likes of which Thorin had never before seen. He grasped the hobbit’s hand and dragged him nearer. Bilbo went without complaint, falling onto his lap, close and warm. He allowed himself only a single kiss, long and searching, before pulling away. He ran his fingertips along the apple of Bilbo’s cheek and pressed a kiss to the button nose before helping Bilbo to stand and rising himself.

“Before any dwarrow we will now be seen as betrothed. What do your people do to signify such things?”

“A dance with flower crowns.” The hobbit’s cheeks flushed and he dropped his gaze to their clasped hands, a pleased smile playing on his lips.

“When this evil has been driven from Erebor I will dance with you before the entire court.”

“It doesn’t have to be in front of all of Erebor. Friends will suffice.” He stepped a little closer and his glow was warm against Thorin’s skin. “I’d make a dinner for the Company and then hold a dance. I’d weave our crowns and braid a few lengths of honey-suckle into your hair.” His fingers trailed along the new braid. “It’d be lovely against your dark hair.” He met Thorin’s eyes again. They were greener now in the dying fire light. “Something simple and personal. A promise between the two of us and a celebration with dear friends.”

He could imagine it as well, and would have gladly discussed it with Bilbo but the morning was wearing on. He nodded his head in answer and thickly swallowed away the developing lump of emotion. “Come,” He tugged on the captured hand and Bilbo slipped easily after him. He fastened Sting to the Burglar’s side and bound Orcrist to his own waist.

The room was nearly dark, dawn was nothing but a hint in the air. It would be another hour or so before the sun truly rose and lit the kingdom in her warmth. He had a feeling she would be their greatest ally in the approaching battle.

He opened the door to his room and found Balin waiting with a letter.

“Sire,” Balin bowed hastily and thrust the letter towards him. He gave a nod to Bilbo as well but made no other notice of his presence. Bilbo was doing his best not to stare at the letter or Balin. His cheeks were pleasantly flushed and Thorin couldn’t help but notice how well the bead stood out against the red of his cheek.

He turned the letter over in his hand and considered it. It was a heavy, cream colored, paper that smelled faintly of flowers. Like spring in the middle of winter. It was sealed with green wax that bore a crest he did not recognize. Two intertwined trees and something that looked like a bloom in the middle.

He broke the seal and pulled the letter out. It was written with brown ink in common that was rather more loopy than it needed to be.

_King Thorin,_

_Your curse could not be given save by the most powerful enchanters in Middle Earth. Never before in our history has such a thing happened. Few now live who could posses such magic, and even fewer are female._

_Still, I do not believe that the enchanter was an evil-doer. If they had intended evil, they could simply have cursed you to feel hate with the power they possessed._

_Rumors have reached our trees of an evil awakening in your mountain. I do not know if such stories are factual, though they hold a hint of truth. If something truly stalks the lower halls, use the curse to any advantage you might. It seems that more than one force is at work._

_Until more can be learned,_

_Ivonwin_

The letter was hardly worth the ink it had been written with. He had already known she had to be powerful. She had healed him of mortal injuries and could walk unseen. The Lady Galadriel was the only lady he knew that might be capable of such a feat, and he knew it was not her.

More worrying though was the fact that news had already reached Mirkwood about the evil that stalked their halls. No dwarrow would have spoken of it as they did not share information with other races. It would have to be a man speaking with their Laketown kin then. He would have to speak with Bard. They could not allow such talk to go about unchecked. It would make trade more difficult and tempt others to think they were not strong. They could not afford such a thing while they were still rebuilding.

Bilbo’s hand brushed along his and he realized he was glaring at the letter. He relaxed his features and hooked his pinkie and ring finger with Bilbo’s. “Thank you, Balin. It is a letter from Ivonwin that said nothing we had not already guessed. Mirkwood has, however, heard about the Blood-Drinker in our lower halls.” He would not call the vampire by its proper name. Not here, and not before dawn. He would not test the powers that be in that way.

Balin’s gaze darkened. “She offered no aid on the subject?”

“She said only that she believed the curse would aid me in my fight against the creature.” Worry surged through Balin and pressed against Thorin’s skin. Bilbo stepped closer without a word. A reassuring presence of silent acceptance. “Is there anything else to report? I want to speak with Ori again this morning.” He was keenly aware of Dwalin’s absence. Bifur had retired at some point during the night as well. Dori normally would have relieved him, but the dwarf was no where to be seen. It was Bofur and one of Dain’s dwarrows guarding the door instead.

“There was no sighting of the creature in the night. Bard would like to meet with you to discuss the traitor.” There was something in Balin’s gaze that spoke of distaste and worry, more than a simple talk would warrant.

“Then I will head to him after I speak with Ori.” He turned his head to look down at Bilbo. The hobbit was standing straight with a look of grim determination. It was akin to the look he’d born when they had been on the quest.

His hobbit was frightened, but would not back down or leave. He tightened his hold and swallowed back his own fears. “Bilbo, will you accompany me?”

He started and looked shocked to be asked. He would need to grow used to such things. The braid in his hair would mean that he’d be the Consort of the King in future days. He would be the Crowned Prince. In Thorin’s absence he would rule on equal ground with Fíli.

They would need to talk. He should have explained Bilbo’s duties to him before he braided his hair. Unbraiding the hair would be far more painful than never having braided it.

He pushed the thoughts away and focused on Bilbo’s answer. The hobbit nodded his head. “Of course, Sire.” He squared his shoulders and met Thorin’s eyes unflinchingly. His hand was warm against Thorin’s, and he drew strength from the simple contact.

-[]-[]-[]-

Ori had not slept much through the night. Dwalin and Dori had guarded his bed while Nori went searching for more information on the man that had betrayed them all to serve the vampyre. Bofur had taken over guarding his door at that point.

The scribe was paler than when Thorin had last seen him.

Óin had tended to the broken hand and all the fingers had been set and bound in thick white wrapping. His hand was held to his chest by a sling and there was an open book in his lap that he had sketched some images on. They were all dark masses save for one image of Dwalin and Dori both smiling.

The scribe’s eyes took stock of Bilbo’s new braid immediately while Dwalin’s eyes ran over the length of Thorin’s braid. They both smiled together.

It was disconcerting, but Thorin could not find it in himself to care too much. He had told Bilbo he would declare him his love before the Valar themselves, and to that he would hold.

There was nothing new to learn from the scribe, though it was clear that Ori was exhausted still. He brightened up at seeing Bilbo well, but there was still a grey quality to his skin that Thorin did not like.

Dwalin joined him when he left him. Bilbo stayed with Ori for a while, and it made Thorin ache to see him leave. He didn’t want the shadow to have another chance to claim him.

It was oddly satisfying to see that Dwalin felt the same.

“We make our way to Bard.” Dwalin nodded in understanding and fell into step beside Thorin. His eyes dropped to Orcrist every few steps, wary. It pressed against Thorin’s chest, cold and alarming. He needed to distract before they reached Bard and he was bombarded with fear from both of them. “How did the night pass?”

“Slowly.” He eyed Thorin’s braid again and a ghost of a smile drifted over his lips. “Far less enjoyable than yours it would seem.” His amusement washed over Thorin, with a hint of joy that nearly made him stall.

“Bilbo and I at last came to an understanding last night. I have claimed him as my Sanzueh.” He found himself smiling and very nearly ran his fingers along the bead of his new braid. “And he has claimed me for his own as well.” The amusement and joy became more prominent around him. It surged through his stomach lightly, like wings brushing against his skin.

He schooled his features and stood straighter. His heart could not dictate him at this moment. He had to keep a clear mind for Bard. Bilbo never allowed for a clear head. He was distracting at the best of times and confusing at others.

He cut through the halls without stopping. His hand stayed on Orcrist, ready to draw her from her sheath at the first hint of blue. Guards, dwarrow and human, stood at the door to the council chamber. He nodded his head in acknowledgment at them and thanked them when they opened the door.

Bard, Fili, Kili, Sigrid, Bain, and two of Bard’s captains were seated at the table. Breakfast was at the center and papers were spread everywhere in the organized chaos that his nephews always worked with.

They rose as he entered and he bid them all sit with a wave as his hand as he took his seat at the head of the table.

“Before anything is discussed,” Fili started, eyes wide and worried, “Bard has news from Esgaroth.”

The king of Dale gave his head a short nod. Kili’s eyes were locked on Thorin’s hair. He looked as if he wanted to smile, but the air of the room was gloomy. Fear, worry, hate, anger, all of it was mixed around, pressing against Thorin and curling in his belly.

“Gandalf was spotted on the southern borders two hours ago. He was headed towards us.”

Two hours ago… If he was on horseback, he would reach them by evening. The threat could be met before they lost the sun. Gandalf had wielded light in several battles with them. He held the power of fire and light. He could annihilate the demon with them. It seemed susceptible to light, and he had a feeling it would react to fire in the same manner.

“The guards at the gate have been instructed to let him through, I trust?” Fili nodded his head. “Good. Tell them to send him directly to the throne room. We will all need to be alerted to his presence.”

“That is not the only news I have.” Bard continued, his gaze darkening and drifting to Sigrid. She had grown paler since Thorin had last looked on her. Bain was sitting close to her side and the guard was closer than he needed to be. “My daughter was accosted by the traitor yesterday morning.”

“He was the same man that had been bothering her during the coronation feast as well.” Kili added.

“He would follow me around.” Sigrid said quietly, her eyes locked on the table and a haunted distaste on her face. “I thought it was normal. The Lady Tauriel had warned me that I would now find myself earning unwanted attention.”

“Has anyone else behaved similarly? To you or Princess Tilda?” The thought of someone stalking the younger one… of putting such fear in her heart at so young an age in a place she should feel safe to travel about… It very nearly made him see red. He could feel an intense hate pounding through Bard and it did nothing to ease his own. The man was doing a remarkably good job of hiding his rage.

“No. Tilda is safe, she has found no unwanted attention.” Bard’s eyes narrowed at the wording and Thorin imagined there would be a talk later. Tilda was nine, too young to have any attention. Wanted or otherwise. Humans came of age far quicker than Dwarrows did, but the mere chance of such a thing made anger roll through him. None of them should be plagued with that terror.

He knew what it was to live with the fear that someone would take something you would never give solely because they could. The early years of their exile had been dark with such fear.

Well, he was no longer worried about leaving the traitor in Bard’s care. 


	18. Chapter 18

Balin perched himself in the battlement, the one that Smaug had somehow avoided destroying in either of his mad rampages, and waited there until Gandalf arrived. Thorin would have teased him if he was not so very tempted to join him there.

Every guard that went for duty at the lower halls was pale with worry and the mountain was nearly silent with unspoken fear. Every shadow was avoided with terrified glances. Three fires had already broken out on the upper levels by dwarrows and humans who were overzealous in their urge to keep away the dark.

It turned out that Balin needn’t have put himself on personal watch for the wizard as there was no mistaking his arrival. An hour before the sun fully set he arrived and rode straight past the dwarrows guarding the gate. He continued on riding through Erebo until he reached the king’s hall.

Thorin could feel him coming, and the force of his worry nearly took the breath from him. Bilbo stepped closer to the small throne he sat upon while Bard looked up from his equally as small throne. The guards in the room exited, shutting the door behind themselves.

“Tell me all that you know.” The click of his staff tapping against the stone echoed around the hall dramatically, and it just irritated Thorin. He had forgotten how quickly the wizard could irritate him.

“You could start with telling us a thing or two.” Bilbo huffed under his breath and crossed his arms. Thorin’s lips quirked up with the urge to grin and he had to call upon all his training not to submit to the urge.

“There is a vampire in Erebor. It is after Bilbo and does not seem to care for Orcrist or light.” And that, sadly, was really all that they knew. Dwalin gave his head a nod in apparent approval at how short he managed to make the statement. The guards regard for Gandalf was far lower than his.

“Did He know I was coming?”

“He did not hear it from us.” The wizard had just ridden through his kingdom on a horse. It was hardly as if he was being subtle.

“Then we must act hastily. Bilbo, do you have Sting?” The hobbit’s hand instantly went to his side to rest on the sword’s hilt. He gave his head a short, curt nod.

“And you have Orcrist with you.” He nodded his head even if it wasn’t a question. “Then we will take a meal together with the Company. Bard, you and your children will attend.” He received a nod from the king of Dale. “When we are finished, you two will accompany me to the lower levels. I trust you have an idea of where its nest is?” Bard nodded his head again. There was a dark look in his eyes, one Thorin had never seen before. Not even the Master had earned such ire.

Not even he had.

The wizard was paler than he had been when he’d left them. He was ragged looking. Whatever he’d been doing it had not been enjoyable.

“Why the three of you?” Dwalin nearly growled the words. His hand was on the axe at his side, and he was practically vibrating with irritation. Thorin could feel it clear across the hall. Bilbo stepped still closer until their shoulders were touching.

“Because we bear the three blades from the Eldar. I trust you have not found the lower treasury?”

“We have stopped clearing the lower levels.” He stood up as he spoke and descended the few steps to the floor. Bilbo followed after him, as did Bard.

“Then the other magical weapons have not been found and our three will have to suffice.” He gave his head a little nod an eyed Blbo suspiciously. “Might I have a word with you, Master Baggins, before we eat?” Thorin’s heart gave a hard thump in his chest  for reasons he couldn’t determine. Bilbo nodded his head.

“Yes. Of course.” He walked forward as he spoke and brushed his pinkie against Thorin’s hand. Bilbo kept his eyes on Gandalf, and Thorin’s heart gave another thump.

Would Gandalf try to discourage him? Thorin had not exactly endeared himself to the wizard. He would be within his right to caution Bilbo against wedding Thorin.

He watched Bilbo walk away with a heavy heart and a strange, empty ache in his chest. The doors closed behind the wizard with a deafening thud.

“Typical. He asks what we know and tells nothing of what he knows.” Dwalin grumbled as he walked towards the throne. Bard turned his head to look at Thorin. He was frowning, which made Thorin feel better. He could feel irritation and no small amount of indignation pouring off the king.

“What does he want with Bilbo?”

There were far too many possible answers to that.

-[]-[]-[]-

The feast was massive. Bombur had little time to prepare it, but he thoroughly out did himself. There was an entire roast pig, and several ducks for meat. Fresh bread, rounds of cheese, sausages, and even salad for Gandalf, Bilbo, and Balin. There were a few other vegetables for them as well, though Thorin took little stock of them.

Gandalf had detained Bilbo for the entire two hours before dinner. Thorin had busied himself with an examination of the perimeter. He found another daisy and plucked it without caring that Dwalin could see him do so.

Now he found Bilbo walking towards his end of the hall with a grim expression that made his heart seem to pound all the harder. Bilbo’s eyes scanned the table without brightening, hardly seeming to notice all the food it was ladened with. His gaze found Bilbo at the head of the table and locked onto him. The hobbit quickened his steps immediately, his gaze steady and determined.

His talk had not been enjoyable then. The wizard was entering behind him, and he looked older somehow. Tired.

A servant pulled out Bilbo’s seat and assisted him into it. Thorin waited until he left to lean towards Bilbo.

“He tried to tell me to return to the Shire.” Bilbo said blatantly before Thorin could ask anything. He continued to stare at Bilbo and pushed the anger that rose from those words away. He would dwell on them later. “He said that you were a king and that I had no idea what that meant.” The hobbit huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “As if I was nothing more than a stupid child!”

Dwalin was eyeing them with obvious concern. Gandalf was speaking with Balin, and neither of them were doing a good job of hiding the fact that they were trying to listen in.

“He is correct in the regards that I am a King. I have not fully informed you of all that marrying me will entail. Your life will no longer be your own.”

Bilbo turned in his chair so that he was fully facing Thorin and braced himself on the arm of it. “My dear ass,” he shook his head, a smile playing on his lips, “I know that you are a king. It was one of the first things I learned about you.” He tapped Thorin’s nose, the smile fully claiming his lips as he rose a bit in his chair. “I know I would have to be at least marginally in the public’s eye. I think it is a small price to pay for the love of one such as you.” He leaned closer and the smile slipped away to be replaced with frank determination. “I am nowhere near grand enough for you, King Thorin Oakenshield, but I will selfishly take what you have offered.”

He took Bilbo’s braid in his hand and pulled the flower free from his pocket. It was easy to slip it into the weave at the point where the two braids became one, and it went beautifully with the hobbit’s bronze curls.

It would speak better than he possibly could. “It was you who offered me so grand a gift, Ghivasheluh.” He settled back in his chair as Bilbo did the same. The hobbit’s eyes were brighter and more certain.

Thorin felt ready to face the wizard. His anger was no longer burning quite so hot. He could ignore it until after the evil was removed from Erebor.

The actual meal was surprisingly enjoyable. He would have suspected that the threat of what they were about to attempt would have loomed over them, but no such thing happened.

Stories were told, without hesitation, of their long journey to the mountain. Bard enthralled them with stories of his own childhood and the escapades his children had gotten up to.

And through it all, there was _laughter_.

It rang through the hall with more force than it had during any other dinner. The room was flooded with the light of each members glow and the warmth of their happiness. Love washed over Thorin in startling waves until he could no longer remember what had angered him. He held Bilbo’s hand under the table and watched as his nephews tossed food at Bain. He watched the prince laugh until he nearly fell out of his chair and he watched as the Princess lost the dark fear in her eye that had been there since the man’s arrest.

He watched as Gandalf slowly straightened until he was chatting earnestly with Ori and Balin. He watched Dwalin laugh with Oin and tease Gloin over his wife and son. He watched and greedily memorized until he noticed there was an extra body in the seat next to him.

She was beautiful as ever, though she appeared to glow more vividly as the joy surged.

“It is a gift.” The green lady’s eyes were brighter than he had ever seen them. They seemed to reflect the light that could be felt in the sound of Bilbo’s laughter. It flooded his ears and washed every other thought away. The sound of his nephews, his cousins, his betrothed, _his_ _family_. The music of their joy despite lingering darkness. It thundered through him more forcefully than fear ever had. It poured through his veins until he nearly felt as if he was glowing from the force of it.

He met her gaze, his lips turned up in a smile that he was not ashamed of. “Joy and laughter are eternal allies against shadow and hate. The evil one will seek to darken your thoughts. Do not give into the shadow.”

He nodded his head in silent acceptance and faced his family once more before the shadow.

-[]-[]-[]-

Gandalf wasted no time with pleasantries once their meal was finished. “We will walk as we talk. The creature will be strongest at the witching hour, and I should rather have it beaten before we reach that time.”

“You have defeated a vampyre?”

“Once. It was not a pleasant experience, and I had powerful aid.”

“Why our swords?” Bilbo asked, cutting the end of Gandalf’s statement off. He was nearly running to keep up with Gandalf’s longer strides.

“Because they were made in Gondolin for exactly such a purpose. They were used in the Goblin wars, of course, but they were not made for that. Their crafters wove powerful spells into them. Their touch will burn the vampyre far worse than fire.”

“What should we expect?” Dwalin had seen to it that Bilbo knew the basics of wielding his sword, and he had killed several orcs in their time together. Still, this creature was nowhere near so stupid as an orc. He would have rather given Sting to another to wield. If powerful magic wasn’t involved, he might have. As was, he couldn’t risk the magic. The sword had been given to Bilbo, and it would work best with him until it was given to another.

“I do not know.” They headed still lower. Bard had given the location to Gandalf, and Thorin. The mines in the oldest part of the kingdom was where the creature resided. “The last one I fought was capable of summoning bats to his aid, and could manipulate shadow.”

“This can manipulate shadows.”

“Then we had best be prepared.” The rest of the walk was quiet. Bilbo stayed near to his side and Gandalf led the way, his staff glowing with blue light that pierced through the darkness.

They came at last to a giant cavern deep in the heart of Erebor. A few veins of silver sparkled on the wall with the reflected light from Gandalf’s staff. Utter darkness was at the bottom of the cave so that it was impossible to see the floor.

That would have been enough to tell him they had found the things hiding place. There was also a strong sense of malice and hate radiating from the pit.

They’d found the vampyre.

“I charge you, ancient evil, to come forth! Show yourself, Sercë-Yulmë!” He bellowed the last two words out, and as he did, the shadow at the bottom of the mine sprang into the air like a fountain. It raced around the upper ceiling before pouring in front of them in a twisting mast.

“Abandon this mountain and return to Mordor if you would live. The shadow will not avail you.” The wizard grew larger as he spoke, and the light of his staff grew all the brighter. Thorin raised Orcrist and Bilbo followed his lead. The three swords sparkled in the darkness, and the shadow seemed to withdraw.

“Fools!” The voice was more terrible than it had been when it echoed in Ori’s room, and the malice that flowed out of the creature stole away Thorin’s breath. “This little king will never take my place! The Lonely Mountain is mine!” The last word was snarled and then the shadow surged upward and outward, circling around them as a single piercing cry filled the air.

The hate churned in Thorin’s chest, robbing him of his air and making his blood pound.

Bilbo stabbed forward, slashing Sting in arc against the shadow and for a moment the constant stream of it broke. Thorin and Gandalf followed his lead and the shadow stopped spinning around them. A large mass of it floated in front of them, and another cry echoed through the air.

Screeches answered the cry.  

A dozen or so bats soared down from the ceiling and flew at their heads, their claws out and their fangs flashing. Thorin slashed over head, knocking one down while Gandalf swung his staff at the mass of shadow and chanted in quenya.

The shadow struck back out.

The glow from Gandalf’s staff flickered. It nearly faded away before it came back. Gandalf staggered back a step from the blow of the shadow. There was blood on his temple that stood out darkly against his grey hair. Bilbo jumped behind them as a bat tried to bite his ear. Thorin tried to turn and aid him but there were more bats flurrying between them.

Curse the wizard and his resistance to explaining himself! They were not prepared for this fight!

“This plan,” He panted as he waved Orcrist in another arc through the air. She slashed easily through the wing of several bats with a flash, “seems rather poorly made.” Another swarm of bats glided down from the caverns overhead in a flurry of wings and screeches.

“I have not been acting off a plan for sometime now, Thorin.” Gandalf grit out as he thrust his staff forward into the shadow again. Thorin blocked a bat and swung at another with Orcrist. Her pale glow cast the shadows away, along with Gandalf’s sword and staff. The wizard’s entire body almost seemed to be glowing. The swords at the very least seemed brighter when they were near to each other. Perhaps the enchantress had known the effect the swords would hold together. “The moment I arrived my plans went awry.”

“Your plans leave much to be desired in the planning area.” He thrust forward and brought the end of Orcrist down in an arc, cutting through three bats before he spun and brought the blade back up and across so it was covering his chest and blocking yet another attack.

“My plans have to take fools into account. I believe I ordered you to stay out of the lower halls.” There was quite a bite in the words, and he received a glare from the wizard. The light of his staff was now steady in the darkness, despite the echoing laughter of the vampyre.

“You ordered Bilbo.”

“Will you two stop arguing!” Bilbo’s small, leaf-shaped blade stabbed forward, lighting the shadow and revealing a part of a leg that Gandalf instantly swung at. A scream filled the hall before the shadow covered it again. “There are more important things going on at the moment than either of your prides!”

Gandalf laughed. It was a deep, rough sound. One he had heard far too infrequently for how long they had traveled together. “My dear Hobbit,” Gandalf insisted as he shuffled closer to Bilbo’s side. Thorin moved closer on the other side. “There is nothing so important to a dwarf or wizard as their pride!” Before them, the shadow faded enough that he could see the outline of the vampyre.

_Joy and laughter are eternal allies against shadow and hate. The evil one will seek to darken your thoughts. Do not give into the shadow._

They couldn’t argue, not here and now. He had to remain focused.

He swung forward at the same time Gandalf yelled ‘A Elbereth Gilthoniel, Tel’avalerya Sercë-Yulmë!’ (Varda Starkindler, bind the Blood-Drinker!). He stabbed Glamdring at the mass and Bilbo thrust Sting into the shadow with them. The three blades connected with the creature and a screech more terrible than any he had heard shattered the air around them. The bats they hadn’t struck down shrieked and fled for the ceiling while the shadow shot down.

The vampyre was revealed with deep gashes in his side where they had struck. His terrible head was tossed back and his mouth was spread in the horrible cry. Gandalf thrust his staff into the air and light poured from it while they all three struck again.

Thorin struck it in the heart, Bilbo in the stomach, and Gandalf lopped off its head.

The Vampyre was dead.


	19. Chapter 19

Bilbo was curled up on the bed, fast asleep. He was on the far side which is where he had slept for the last few nights. Thorin prefered being near the door so he was between Bilbo and any potential danger.

The back curtain had been dropped so that the bed was half washed in a warm glow of colors from the fire’s light filtering through the swatches of fabric. They danced over Bilbo’s skin in alluring patterns, calling Thorin to join the hobbit in rest.

His head was resting on a fluffed pillow with his bronze curls carelessly falling about his face. They looked silky in the soft light, and Thorin could remember the feel of them under his fingertips.

There was a fur laid over him, though it only rose half way up to his chest. His arm was draped over the top of it, wrapped around his chest. Thorin could make out the shape of the rest of him below the blanket.

On the bed in front of his chest was an open book. His other hand was holding it open, and he’d clearly been reading it when he succumbed to sleep.

He had been standing in the middle of the room watching for several minutes now. He had handled endless talks and inquires from numerous dwarrows and humans. It was well past dawn, but no sunlight filtered into his room. He had six hours now before his presence would be requested again.

He should climb into the bed next to Bilbo and join him under the fur. Or wake Bilbo for something more enjoyable than sleep, but he could not seem to look away.

“Are you not tired, my child?”

He had never heard the voice before, and no one had followed him into his room. The softly spoken words should have terrified him, yet they didn’t. He reached for his sword, but it was hard to do so. He did take a step towards the bed and turn so his back was to it and Bilbo and his body was between the hobbit and who had spoken.

A tall male with dark brown hair stood behind him. He was tall as an elf, but not as slender as their kind. He was well built, but not bulky. He was dressed richly in fine fabrics that were heavily and expertly embroidered. He had brown eyes that were kind and wise, and achingly familiar.

His ears were curved.

“Who are you?” Orcrist was not glowing, so it wasn’t anything truly vile.  He stood straighter and exhaled slowly. He couldn’t feel anything from the male.

The man’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. The sight made Thorin’s heart thump for reasons he couldn’t decipher. “Do you not know me, Mountain-born?”

“Speak plainly.” The man dipped his head and stepped forward.

“As you wish, Thorin Oakenshield. I am known to most as Aulë, though your kind have always called me Mahal.”

Thorin blinked for one moment, and then promptly dropped to his knee. He flipped Orcrist around and presented her hilt first to the Vala in respect. His heart hammered and his blood thundered through his veins dizzyingly. He could hardly think and had no breath.

“Traz, Nadanuh.” (Rise my child.) Mahal’s hand touched his shoulder lightly and he could not stop his body from shuddering at the warmth in the simple touch. He stood stiffly but kept his head bowed in awe and respect. He wasn’t certain he could actually look into Mahal’s eyes. “Long have I watched you.”

He flushed with pleasure at the words even as guilt churned in his gut. He was not worthy to meet their maker. “I have come to finally free you of your enchantment. For it was put on you by my fair wife.”

He lifted his head in shock for a moment before catching himself and lowering his gaze. The Vala was smiling, and all the more handsome for it. There were braids in his long hair that looked like the braid of Durin. Beautiful beads carved into the shape of flowers decorated the complicated weaves. They were lovely to look at, and he couldn’t help but think that they’d be well suited to Bilbo.

“Yavanna?” The vala nodded his head and laughed. It was a deep sound, one that filled the air and seemed to come from the very ground itself. It flowed through Thorin and made him feel younger and utterly refreshed.

What possible reason could the vala of growing things have for cursing him? It made no sense.

“Yes, my child. She saw in you something of myself, I am afraid. She was rather irritated at you keeping your tongue silent. She has accused me of doing the same on multiple occasions.” He stepped closer, amusement clear on his face. “Hobbits are creatures of growth and emotions. They are open in all they do, like my wife. I made Dwarrows after myself. She has always been irritated at how infrequently your race trust and how rarely you confess of your love.” He shrugged, and it looked almost as if he wanted to laugh. “So she enchanted you to feel everybody else's emotions including your own.”

“She has blessed me more than I deserve.” He could picture Bilbo laying behind him, innocent and beautiful in the soft light. Fili and Kili laughing at dinner and warm in his embrace. Balin’s eyes sparkling with pride in what they had accomplished together. Dwalin’s teasing grin as he plucked another flower for Bilbo. The comfort of his family safe in the Mountain and certain of his love for them.

The freedom to feel love for them, and the confidence to act on such love. The wonder of knowing what the love of those he most loved felt like.

“She would have freed you when you claimed Bilbo as your Sanzeuh, but she believed it would aid you to feel the Vampyre draw near.” The vala stepped near, his brown eyes kind beyond measure, and full of mischief that did nothing to diminish how regal he felt. “Now, before I part, Child of Stone, I would give you one last gift and a blessing. Lead my children well, and do not forget yourself for treasures sake. Hold those who are dear to you near, and you will feel no more madness.” He dropped a kiss to Thorin’s forehead and warmth flowed through his body like a drink of ale. “Be well my child.”

And then he was gone.

Thorin stood still for a moment longer, his heart thumping and his blood pounding faintly in his ears.

“Thorin?”

Bilbo’s quiet call made him instantly turn around. The Hobbit was half propped up on his arm and peering at Thorin with interest. The fur slipped down to reveal more of his chest. “When did you get back? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed rest, Mizimuh.” The hobbit gave his head a fond shake. There was no sign of the green glow that had radiated from his skin since Thorin woke in the tent.

“As do you, my royal prat. Have you gotten away from the meetings for a few hours?” Thorin nodded his head. “Then come to bed?”

He crossed the floor with a smile he did not want to be rid of. He shed his clothes as he walked, making certain to lock eyes with Bilbo as he pulled his boots off. He stood up swiftly, maintaining eye contact with his hobbit as he did so. He was steady enough, but he felt different. Stronger almost. More certain for sure. Perhaps it was the blessing of Mahal.

He climbed up next to Bilbo who grabbed him by his shoulders and hauled Thorin over himself. His leg hooked on Thorin’s waist and dragged him down. Warm desire curled low in his gut, mixing with love and deep adoration.

Neither of which were his. His love for Bilbo burned in his chest next to his heart, but this… this was something else. This was a warmth he could feel everywhere, and the realization of what it was left him breathless. It was fierce and consuming and every bit as potent as the love that burned in his own heart.

Bilbo stared up at him with wide eyes that were green and an open mouth. Shock was clear on his face. “Thorin, I-you…” He trailed off and swallowed thickly. Tears glistened in his eyes. “I can feel you.” His eyes sought Thorin’s, asking if it was true.

“Sanzeuh,” he murmured, his own voice thick. He could feel Bilbo’s love through his entire body and it simply made his own love all the more potent. He dropped his head lower and claimed Bilbo’s lips in a kiss that had the hobbit’s toes curling against his leg, and his heel digging into Thorin’s lower back. He wrapped Bilbo up close and poured all he could into the movements of his lips as he felt Bilbo’s love thunder through him.

-[]-[]-[]-

His nephew looked like a hero of old with the sun shining down upon his golden head. He knelt before the throne in front of the entirety of Erebor once more.

Thorin had never seen Dis look quite so proud. She was puffed up with her motherly pride, and their were tears shining in her blue eyes. He had planned this painstakingly, and he had feared the final details would not be ready before the caravans arrival.

Gandalf had, of course, assisted with the final efforts. The forge had been reignited once more and he had found the materials to fashion a crown worthy of his heir. 

He had already declared Fili to be his heir, now he could finally crown him as such. 

"Fili, slayer of Azog and knight of Erebor, you have taken oaths to rule Erebor and govern her people."

"I have."

"Do you still hold to those oaths?"

"I do." 

"You will defend her against all evil and judge her fairly?"

"I shall."

"Then rise, Fili son of Koli, as crowned Prince of Erebor." He lifted the crown of gold and silver from the cushion in Kili's hands and raised it high so that all in the kingdom could see it. He held it for a moment and then lowered it onto Fili's head. He had shaped it himself, and it was, perhaps, the finest thing he had ever crafted. Every rune had been hand etched, and each hammer stroke had been accompanied by a whispered prayer. His nephew had all the best of him, and he would pray until his dying day that he never had Thorin's failings. 

He had stood against the madness. He had tried to call Thorin from its depths at risk to himself. His Lion-Hearted nephew had slain the enemy of their family and stayed at Thorin's side until the bitter end.

He was proud of his heir, and of the future his kingdom had. He would rule her until he could no longer, and he would not fear when he passed her onto his nephew. 

Fili rose easily with the crown firm upon his head. His gaze was slightly dazed, as if he couldn't believe he was being given the honor and responsibility. 

He surged forward and wrapped his arms around his nephew, pulling him in a close embrace. He would have balked at such a public display before the enchantment. Now it came as easily as breathing. 

Life was far too short, and his nephew far too important to waste time on propriety. Let all in the kingdom know that he cherished his nephews. Let all in the kingdom know that Fili had his favor and protection. 

He loved him and Kili. He would declare it to anyone who asked.

-[]-[]-[]-

He always thought he should look ridiculous crowned in flowers. He had certainly looked bizarre at their betrothal dance, and odder still at their wedding feast. Though, it might have been the ceremonial armor that had made him look strange at their wedding.

Yet when Bilbo braided flowers into his hair, he never looked strange.

Bilbo rarely spoke real words when he braided Thorin’s hair, preferring to hum while he worked. Despite Thorin being the actual dwarf in their relationship, the hobbit seemed to like braiding his hair more than Thorin liked braiding Bilbo’s hair. Thorin would never complain. There was nothing so relaxing as settling into his husband’s garden and letting the hobbit braid his hair in endless plaits. He would weave all manor of plant life in his hair while Thorin dozed. Sometimes he would recline in Bilbo’s lap, sometimes he would lay straight on the grass. On occasion Bilbo would lay on his chest and work the braids in his hair while laying there.

There were oak leaves, forget-me-nots, and honeysuckle being worked into his hair today. He was sitting upright, enjoying a smoke and going over a trade agreement while his hobbit worked. The plants were being braided around his head until they decorated the entirety of it. The colors were well matched to his tunic and weskit. Dwalin would have laughed at him noticing such things, but those details were important to Bilbo.

The hobbit settled in front of him, apparently satisfied with his work, and smiled. It was a soft, sultry smile that Thorin had seen thousands of times, and never grew tired of.

He put the trade agreement aside, along with his pipe, and settled his hands on his husbands hips. Bilbo shuffled nearer until his legs were spread over Thorin’s thighs and his toes were brushing against his knees. The hobbit’s hand trailed over his chest, and his eyes followed their path before lifting and meeting Thorin’s. He stared for a moment before leaning closer until they were scarce inches from each other.

He felt it then, a faint buzz against his skin that grew stronger. It happened on occasion, when neither expected it. They would be doing something -almost anything under the sun- and then they would notice that they could feel the other’s emotions. It only ever happened between the two of them now, and never lasted for very long.

Thorin always made it a point to make the most of such occurrences.

He watched as his hobbit’s lips moved but he couldn’t hear the words spoken. They disappeared in a rush of blood and desire. “What was that?”

Bilbo’s head dropped down until his lips were touching Thorin’s ear. “Do you have any oil on you? I told Dwalin that I was practicing a Hobbit tradition and we were not to be disturbed for anything.” His breath was hot against Thorin’s skin and the feel of it had a shiver rushing down his spine that he was powerless to fight against. He tilted his head to make a clever reply-well, as clever a reply as he could manage because it was impossible to think with Bilbo whispering in his ear- when Bilbo ran his small, warm hand lightly up Thorin’s side from thigh to chest and the shiver turned into a full shudder. “Easy now,” Bilbo calmed with a phrase and tone Thorin knew he had used on Myrtle. The hand continued to move upward until a blunt nail scratched at his nipple.

He growled in the back of his throat and tipped over so that Bilbo was perched on top of him, gloriously bright and happy under the starlit sky. “If you speak to me as if I am a pony, I shall give you something to ride.” He spoke the words against Bilbo’s ear and was rewarded with the hobbit tossing his head back and laughing, loud and carefree. Bilbo settled over him and Thorin let himself get lost in the warmth of Bilbo’s skin and the certainty of the love he could feel thrumming in his very soul.

He could wish no greater joy than this. His people were safe in Erebor. His family was blossoming under the mountain and they had allies near and far. He had a husband he loved, and more than he could ever ask for.

He had a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this tale :)
> 
> I have now officially seen the final movie, and I have to say that I am impressed with how much they actually stuck to cannon. I actually rewrote part of this ending at 3 last night to include a bit with Fili though. He did not get enough love in this movie. 
> 
> I bid you all a very fond farewell until my next story <3


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